Before October
by Here Strikes Dawn
Summary: He couldn't watch the world be destroyed again. Roy Mustang had seen it too many times, and he was the only one left. Now, he is willing to pay any price to Truth. But the only way...is to change the events of history before October 3rd 1910, the date which caused the inevitable destruction of Amestris. Don't forget...
1. Are You Willing?

Before October

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters. They belong to Hiromu Arakawa and the respective companies, although I created the original characters featured in Before October. I am grateful to be able to create a story from this beautiful concept.

Rating: As this story is rated "T", this chapter contains some coarse language. You have been warned.

Otherwise, enjoy!

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Chapter 1: Are You Willing?

He had to save the world before October.

He remembered chaos and havoc, flames spurting into the sky, of a world soaked with ruin. But like bombs scattering to their targets, he could not for the sake of him remember any other details as their traces shattered out of existence. He was watching some mysterious future prophesised by fortune.

The flames would extinguish, sometimes melting into the earth, leaving a land of mud and death. The flames would ignite, sometimes flaring with unrelenting anger until the land had warped into a desert, a parasite sucking the life from its delicate inhabitants. Smoke would rise, intoxicating him in its poisonous embrace. Every path led to the same conclusion; ruin.

Every ending led to browns, greys, black, colours robbed of light, like every paradox surrendering to destruction. He wanted to close his eyes to be rid of it all, once and for all. Why would he care about the fate of the world? It had ended a long time ago. This was the future. Now nothing existed.

Once more. He didn't know why he wanted to see his world ripped apart again as it waved him goodbye. He had seen it a hundred times before. He acted out of instinct, allowing another ending to surface from the recesses of wherever he was. The seconds dragged by, and he sadistically kept his eyes shut, awaiting the cries of pain to ricochet through the night air, the starting notes of the makeshift apocalypse. He would smell cinders wafting along his lips so the dust would settle. It was only ever dust, only ever dust, only dust, dust. His eyelids would flash a violet purple as the first fires whined in the dark. He waited for something. Anything.

This had become "normal" to him, if his circumstances could ever be considered normal.

So when he opened his eyes for the final time, he swore, disbelief muting his senses. He had reached a white ending.

 _"Shit."_

This ending had to be Heaven, he was sure of it. He had been stuck in that infinite loop for too long and now, God was granting him the solace he rightfully, albeit not _righteously,_ deserved. Or it was all a game, an incredibly sardonic game.

After all, God had set him in this timeless warp in the first place.

But it had been so long, he had started to forget. This white wasteland had been replaced with visions of death, horror and details he didn't want to remember. Nevertheless, he would never forget that snarky grin no matter how hard he struggled to escape. There was no escape.

As though a glass frame had shattered, he suddenly fell to the ground-not-ground. He became acutely aware of his heart beating like the solitary marches of an army, legs rigid as they refused to stand. Ash still wreathed around his body, its tingling touch, foul stench and pellet remains of dying embers. A part of his mind still lingered in the apocalyptic Hell, reluctant to forget.

"So you see what I mean." The voice reverberated through the planar void. His head turned in every direction, already accustomed to the pervading white, furious as he couldn't locate its presence. His teeth bared, legs poised in a stance, fingers interlocked, separating into fists. He surely hoped this was some test to enter the paradise which existed beyond because he wouldn't go back to _there._ God forbid. He smirked. Entirely appropriate.

Still, silence reigned, as though the voice was awaiting his reply. He warily stepped onto his feet, although his body possessed no real weight here. As he sighed inwardly, holding the acute pain stirring in his ribs with one hand, the gun popped from its holster and he pointed it at the sky-not-sky. "No more games, you bastard."

There was a low chuckle bursting out into sonorous laughter. He pivoted around, scrutinising the void for a ripple of colour. His head ached and his fingers tightened around the trigger, knowing he would achieve nothing, but he wouldn't be defeated that easily. Not even by God.

Suddenly, the laughter pierced through the intangible air again and faded into oblivion. He dropped the gun. He knew where he was; he had never expected the immortal git to become so complacent. One sound rang behind him, reflected and _real,_ a blessed real sound of an echo. As he closed his eyes and rested his hand against the ancient frame, he looked up to see the Doorway, as magnificently decrepit as it had been the last time he had seen it.

"I never thought fate was a game, alchemist." He had to admit the bastard knew how to make an uncanny entrance, jolting the sturdy resolve of any mere novice. But this routine was growing old to him. He grinned with a mock bow towards Truth, who continued to sit cross-legged, while a hand pulled a rippling white-grey foot towards them.

Damn he had a headache already; this memory-regaining thing didn't work for him. Every time the world reaped its ending and even the bloodshed became tired of its accomplishments, he was transported back here for a second. And through the Doorway he went again. Another world ending. He paused, wondering if the Door would open but as he focused on his breathing, regaining his already perfect composure and lowered his gun. Slowly, in case his companion wanted to throw him into the abyss haphazardly in Truth's excuse.

"Unfortunately, you have removed every memory of our conversations each time I return. Therefore, I wholeheartedly regret in informing you that I _don't_ know what you mean." He loved being an arrogant ass at times, especially at the Gate between life and death. Truth frowned, contemplating their choices and the white void flashed all the brighter. The Doorway cracked open, only a fraction, but he focused on the insides of the Door, awaiting the shadowy embrace to drag him into its clutches. Nothing burst forth.

But he had glimpsed into the Door, where no ordinary mortal dared tread. His heart accelerated to a rate which would have killed him in the reality plane. His pupils dilated and contracted as information literally poured into his brain. Every conversation. Repetition. The same argument. His refusing to surrender, his pleads to go back and correct the world, like some goddamn martyr, even though that world had ended. Truth sighing and almost reluctantly opening the Gate, and he had fallen into its depths to awaken into another world. Another end. Each time, he was the only one left alive.

He had passed through the Gate a hundred times now. He had surpassed being an "ordinary mortal" long ago to reluctantly witness the finale of everything. And he clambered to his feet; sweat beading along his forehead, grip shaky at his holster. He really was at the end of the world. He mustered up the intrepidity harrowed somewhere inside of him, a force he had relied upon to make it back to the Gate every time. " _Why."_

It wasn't a question. Truth closed the Door to but a hands length, reflecting sparse shadow which blended into nothingness, and rose to their feet, the same height as him. They nearly passed through him as he sidestepped out of the way before resting a hand against the Door. Without words, Truth took his hand and dipped it into the rivers of knowledge the Door had stored, an abundance of knowledge known to drive alchemists to insanity. Those lost souls didn't find their way out of its clutches again.

This time, the tantalising rope of memory unravelled at his pace. He quickly pushed aside the seconds, minutes, centuries, and millennia dwelling within Truth, struggling to reach for beyond. The one who aged and didn't wish to see everything ending and dying so he could escape that Hell, the one who had a purpose to live for. The one who lived in the reality plane, oblivious to the unprecedented fate which awaited them all. There was a reason why he had never surrendered against God. Threads unwound into strings, stretching longer than the hundred hells he had witnessed clustered together. Even _he_ felt defeated for a second.

They were the reason. They were there. Every one of them, the friends, the enemies and of course, the bastards. Years of power and ascension. Years of trials and torments. The exact details were obscured from him yet he knew the experiences were not from some overpowered dream. He reached for them, before they slipped from his grasp. But then the two ropes began to pull apart from each other; they frayed, severed and split. Straight into two strands. One wound down a path of conflict, birthing fear and tension, until the friends, feral, turned against each other. Soon the riots multiplied to an irrevocable level, hate the disease riddled amongst men. And then it ended as abruptly as it had started with a flash of crimson red. And fire. They were…

One day had changed his future.

"This is fucking wrong. All of it!" He snapped his fingers, his signature attack. He knew his struggle was futile; he was defeated before he had begun. But he wouldn't surrender, not when they needed saving. Without words, they had unanimously sworn to protect each other's backs. That's the way it always was.

Truth stood there and returned to its foetal-like position, glaring upwards with their unseeing eyes. The air thickened with the passing moments and a heavy weight started to press down on his shoulders. They itched until the weight became nearly unbearable and vanished. The command issued by God was no light matter. "The events of October 3rd 1910 must be corrected."

It was his turn to laugh. He wouldn't be ordered around by them, deity or not. His mind however searched frantically for that date, flickering through the years as a collected montage of emotions. He had the Door inches from his grasp and he had peered into its depths on too many occasions. So why…why couldn't he remember one date!

"I cannot share the secrets of the universe with you, alchemist. You know that." Truth could never be sorrowful. Truth could never feel any emotion and they had the audacity to look down upon humankind and sneer.

He rolled his eyes, tempted to laugh at the madness presented to him. Here he was at the fringe of the world, and all he could do was watch it bleed. He despised the feeling of being so useless and he scratched at his raw palms, wishing the white fabric covered them as they had always done. Some dreams were hopeless though, and he turned back to the snowfield chasm around him. There was no tear in that white fabric; the only exit and entrance were through being coughed out by the Doorway. The single path was through the locked vault of Truth, but that only sowed the roots of fiendish flames.

Perhaps he had stepped too close to the Sun at this end, just the same as the damned beginning.

" _Why."_

Truth answered, although they were awaiting the answer to the question they had posed at the start of this cycle. The man knew that they had controlled what he had remembered, despite his reluctance to accept fate. Every heavenly power held a deep resentment towards him. "I like to side with the unlikely heroes."

Was he a hero? He had been called that once for being the savoir to the people by destroying the lives of others. He had sworn never to be responsible, to be violated and used as a catalyst in battle again. But it had been his choice. He had been young and naïve, a shining insignia on impeccable uniform amid an ultramarine ocean of soldiers and officers. Before there had been laughs and memories. After there had been laughs and memories, clouded with nightmares. Every day he leaned closer to his ambition, no, his passion. He could make the world a better place with the power he had been bestowed.

The one he wanted in his past was there. Although, he was _here,_ watching patiently, a coward dressed in the shawls of shame. Was he willing to stoop so low? There wasn't a hope in Truth. Well, he was going to have to improvise.

"The question is, are you willing, Roy Mustang?"

That was his name, true. He was called the Flame Alchemist, true. But even some truths were hidden from Truth. He saw their backs flicker before his mind's eye. He had forgotten to watch them for so damn long. The truth? He couldn't live without those people. He wasn't willing to live without those people. He sighed, shrugging his shoulders, all traces of fear and doubt washed away. They wouldn't hesitate to kill him when he saw them next. Soon. "I've had worse."

He would have no memories, no experiences, if he was born back into the world before the future had severed. He had one chance.

The Doorway of Truth peeled open. He nodded, waved an arm in Truth's direction both in goodbye and…other connotations. That would leave his lasting impression, but none of that mattered now. There was no time left.

Roy didn't hesitate as he stepped straight through the Gate.


	2. Snowball Fight Priorities

Before October

I certainly did not title this as "Blue Hour" originally. Now that I think about it, all of my fanfics begin with the letter A, B or C... I promise, it's not intentional.

Please enjoy this chapter!

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Chapter 2: Snowball Fight Priorities

 _Winter 1904_

He sneezed, smoke clouds dancing in front of his face. As he rubbed the condensation away, the skin between his gloves and coat came into contact with an ice-cold sensation. He looked up, flabbergasted, to see the first drops of snow falling from the sky. It never snowed in the East, although this winter had nearly been as blizzardly as the North.

All an onlooker would see was the innocent mesmerisation of a child witnessing winter's prowess, mouth agape, layers of clothing bundled and hastily abandoned in the jumble of his pockets. But he was fiendishly planning his next offensive within.

He had lost to his brother. His younger brother too. And he was not content with a stalemate. In the countryside, he prided himself in knowing every crevice as he dodged an incoming attack. He knew who were his friends and enemies…who were still his friends, but that was beyond the point. When the teams were decided, he usually paired up with his brother. As the other children scurried inside for their warm cocoa, allies would turn against each other. He knew the terrain and how to scoop the quickest stash of snow before hurling it at his brother, adjusting the angle so it would whack his brother in the chest.

While he received a disheartened scowl from his sibling, he was anything but disheartened. A victor's glee. He couldn't beat his brother in a fight of fists; he was his equal in intelligence. That left only snowball fights. Even with a snowball fight, he felt that he achieved much with his chilling victory.

And then they had arrived in East City on an outing, although their mother had not planned for the heavy forecast of snow. With winter beginning to wane, she must have hoped for a faint glimmer of sunshine, but it was overcast, murky clouds looming above, with no evident signs of relenting. The perfect weather to replenish his supply of ammunition.

He wasn't adapted to this terrain. The flat, repetitive land with hardly a tree in sight for shelter! And he couldn't throw free range without a fistful of snow colliding with a window or rooftop. It was ridiculous, and he secretly admired at how Al had slid down a bannister, like they did at home, to aim a snowball into his mouth. That was what had secured his now-smug sibling his success.

His barley-coloured bangs limped down the side of his face. It had only been hours ago when their mother had barrelled the two of them onto the train, still sleepy in the absence of the morning light. Accompanied by yawns and mumbles as replies, when the train whistle finally trumpeted with the arrival of the dawn, everything changed. His reaction was like an animal awakening from hibernation. He frantically ran along the length of the train, moving against the train's power, followed closely by his brother who stumbled into him once or twice as the transport suddenly halted at a station. They had inspected the skies, the landscape, and even asked the conductor, where they were going. But the conductor said nothing, as though he knew the secret plotting of their mother. A late season shopping trip.

Al had seen the sign first. He pointed at the frost-tinged surface, frozen water beginning to melt as the Sun edged to its pinnacle. _Welcome to East City!_ Enthusiastic as he had felt but he had been defeated…and he was a sour loser.

His feet scoffed into the iced-over earth by the side of the pathway, like a very misshapen chocolate cake (he was thinking of the one Winry had made for his recent birthday) and shivered impulsively. In truth, it seemed to be becoming colder too, as though even the Sun was snug its blanket of clouds. He looked around, street lights dotting this way and that way, pedestrians hurrying to and fro cafes, the soft _clink_ of bags being carried back to their owner's homes. The snow pellets obscured the road signs, lost amid the flurry of white. Reluctantly, he sighed exasperatedly, admitting that he was lost.

Why had he run away in a storm of anger when Al had puffed out his chest and their mother had praised his younger sibling…but also him too. Why had he been born as such a hot head?

That thought made him frustrated. He dragged his body forward, hands firmly tucked in his pockets, but his senses were alert for the indent of Al's boots on the cobbled streets, the stern cry of his mother calling out his name…

"Edward?"

He stared around, shocked. That was not the voice of his mother. What had answered his unspoken tangent was a male voice, fringed with contemplation and boredom, like the dull finale of a bonfire in which only ash remained. As he snapped out of his daydream, he stared _upwards,_ at where his feet had brought him. There were huge iron gates towering several times his height. From their corners and lower versatility, they must have been wrought from cast iron. Cheaper and not as efficient as steel. Its percentage of carbon he estimated to be…

No stranger would have expected that this buttoned-up, grimacing child was a prodigy.

Two lions were situated proudly on a plateau, guarding the corner of each gate. Beyond an unidentified cluster of buildings rose from the ground. He hated to admit his feeling very small compared with the wider scope of the world. He admired its worn-down grandeur with the same inquisitiveness that had captured his imagination like the snow. Little did he know that this was the headquarters of the organisation he so despised; ever since the unsettlement in the East Area, his pastoral hometown of Resembool had never been the same. Military armament.

But he had more important things to think about…like where exactly he was. Edward Elric the alchemy genius, surpassing the skill of many credited professors at the age of 5, who couldn't interpret directions.

Ed shook his body vigorously. He had reached the end of the road, which only entered the foreign campus. And as his attention-span ran dry with the grey-speckled trees in the distance, he turned around, bracing himself for the stampede of plights from his mother and taunts from his brother, when he cocked his head to the side.

On a bench outside the gates shedding snow, a solitary bench hosted a solitary stranger. Their head was buried into their knees. His messy black hair was forced away from his face as he looked up intently into the headquarters' crevices, as though he saw details hidden from his own childhood naivety. Something was crumpled firmly in his hand, bearing the toll of his evident strain.

He had called Ed's name. It could have been no other. There was an invisible boundary line between the city's plaza and here…wherever here was, that only few would cross.

"Did you call my name?" The tone was sceptical, but he couldn't help wandering towards the man, intrigued. No stranger would recognise a boy born in the countryside. Not even him. The man suddenly choked in shock, snorting into the disguised cup appearing from the fronds of clothing beneath his coat.

"I didn't expect you to hear me, that's all," the stranger shuffled along on the bench, shoving the creased paper deep into his overcoat and throwing the cup directly into the bin without looking. He was beginning to earn Ed's immediate respect. He slumped further down the bench, until he was of an even height with Edward. "You look scarily similar…"

"I know. Mum always says I look just like…him." Ed blushed, thinking of the time nearly two years ago. On a springtime day when he and Al were still learning to tread around the house without falling into a pile of freshly harvested fruit, dormant from the long winter. The birds were singing, although their chorus was not loud enough to drown out the murmurs of sound drifting down the hallway. He had shuffled under the covers. And then a hand had poked the back of his neck, the warm breath of Al, whispering indistinguishable words but his hand reached to his tummy and Ed knew. He was his big brother.

They had stumbled out of the bedroom, passing the study and along the hallway every morning. The smell of sizzling eggs would quicken their pace. But their father was never awake. He was never in the hallway with a suitcase. And he had never shut the Doorway on their lives before.

"Hohenheim." The man nodded, looking at Edward. Ed ignored the scrutiny and instead returned the favour. Charcoal-coloured eyes framed with exhaustion, but glittered with a hint of spice and intelligence. He saw the same spark in Al's eyes, in Winry's eyes. In return, his aurous features must have reminded the stranger of his father, as they fondly reminded Granny Pinako of her "old drinking counterpart". She smiled strangely whilst reminiscing about "those days".

"Edward Elric, I'm glad to finally meet you." He raised a hand as if to shake but lowered it with a second thought. He rolled his eyes to himself.

"How did you- …" He gasped, thrilled that someone recognised his inheritance from his mother, especially when he was the replica of his father. "Everyone assumes my name is Edward Hohenheim. Win called me Edweim for nearly a year…"

"Of course I knew. Your parents never married." He dismissed the fact as a half-hearted shrug, as though the matter was too trivial to dwell on. "And I am Roy Mustang, a firm admirer of your father's research."

"Mum has only started to let us read his books…it was quite confusing at first. Wait, does that mean…" He scratched lightly at his gloves, fingers numb with the frigid air before they rested in his lap. He turned around to look clearly at the man, eyes widening in astonishment.

"You could say that I'm an alchemist." None of the neighbours could perform alchemy, and his father wouldn't have given him a demonstration; it was more likely that he would show them paternal affection for once. The snow was starting to diminish in his line of sight and stopped falling entirely. The world was left in a barren, white landscape, with every speck of nature tasting winter's bitterness. He buried his neck into his scarf and the warm air made him feel drowsy. It was almost beautiful.

Roy on the other hand was staring out into the nothingness. He blinked and said words under his breath. They were not audible, but the wisps of steam rising from his lips stated otherwise. After a pause which lasted but seconds, he was up on his feet, a solemn atmosphere around him. Where there was a sound of snow slumping from the gates to the ground, he jarred backwards. Ed remained seated, perplexed, wondering if all scientists truly were insane. His mind, beginning to slip back to the snowball fight, refocused on the young-old alchemist. Somehow, he knew those words possessed…Truth.

 _"_ _You bastard…"_ The alchemist's words resonated into the chilling silence.

Without feeling the unconscious movements of his hands, they clumped around a wedge of snow and Ed threw the awkward snowball…which missed valiantly. It landed next to the stone lion but the movement caused snow to dislodge and land on Roy's head. Time slowed as the man looked up, a silent cry and instinctive panic causing his feet to skid impulsively on a hidden layer of ice. He tottered around during this unrehearsed interlude and caught his shoe in a stone. His other foot accelerated forwards and he landed face-down in the snow.

Ed blanched for a moment, his eyes intent at his newly-formed strategy. His grey-sheened pallor was substituted with a fiery intensity, adrenalin pumping through his veins. This fight he would not lose.

And he laughed so much.

A snowball was thrown at his head in response. The ice stung like miniature bullets, his clothes became heavy and soggy, dragging his five-year old's body down. But that was all forgotten. He forgot about his father and alchemy as he hurled snowball after snowball in a whirlwind of pick, scoop, throw.

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"I despise brattish children." Ed had won. They were slumped out on the bench, their breathing finally having returned to a normal rate. The man's hair was completely soaked and his expensive overcoat literally ruined of all its finesse. But he was faring no better, except the contempt smile beaming across his face.

He didn't reply but instead gazed at the wrecked landscape. Not a trace of untouched perfection remained, makeshift barricades formed to be destroyed minutes later. The gates had experienced their most thorough cleaning throughout their fifty year history. And the ground looked like an ice cream parlour with the mounds of snow dug up from the earth, glimmering in sunlight. The Sun had lied to all the weather forecasters, despite how little Ed cared about that. The light faded, as the Sun continued in sinking behind the horizon. Only then did Ed realize how much time had passed. Al and Mum would have been really worried and an unspoken guilt surged through him.

"I have to go." He stood up, looking down at Roy, who had absent-mindedly pulled out the piece of paper, still immaculately crumpled and untouched by the elements of nature. Ed reached out a hand before dropping it to his side again. The man didn't deserve his respect.

"Hopefully not, urchin boy," he nodded to himself. "I'll do it. Unfortunately, you children need protecting, and someone has to do it." The pen clicked. Roy wrote his signature on the piece of paper, not spoiling it with the upmost delicacy. He shut the paper similar to his sealing his fate chained to the military's State. Now and forever.

"I'll see you around then. Next time, I want a demonstration!" Ed cried backwards without turning his head because he had heard his mother's voice. Faintly at first, but the call was becoming louder. He could hear the squeak of Al's voice too. He broke into a sweaty run, pummelling himself forward as fast as possible.

But then he stopped. He glanced around. The bench was empty.


	3. Military Seal

Before October

Sorry if chapter 2 was quite confusing! Poor lil' Ed had no idea what was going on either, but these two strangers had to meet. Don't worry – Roy will help restore order in this chapter, like what _exactly_ Roy was randomly doing sitting outside the military HQ on a bench.

I'll have an update for Blue Hour and Again up in a couple of days, so if you're interested, go and check them out.

Otherwise, enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Military Seal

Roy couldn't explain what had overcome him that afternoon. Perhaps it was being free of the decision he would have to make when he arrived back home for a few precious hours.

As he stumbled away from the wreckage he had caused alongside the remarkably short Edward, Hohenheim's son, he shook his head in amazement. Hohenheim's son. One of the last occasions he had caught sight of the alchemist had been nearly four years ago when his wife Trisha had been pregnant with their younger child, Alphonse. Edward had just started learning how to walk properly.

Four years ago when he had wandered half-asleep through the door, summoned to a random coffee shop in East City by the sweet aroma of caffeine, where the father had been sipping at his beverage while flicking his way through a newspaper. Ordinary and conformed. But he was sitting adjacent to a wall, wedged into a corner all of the other guests, families with young children, avoided. Hohenheim had three stalls free to his left, the only seats free in the coffee shop. Roy had considered moving to the parlour across the street but the enigmatic trance of Hohenheim reading through the newspaper was like a pendulum, and he felt himself surrendering to a hypnotic daydream. A daydream in which he had seated himself promptly next to the golden-haired individual. That was when Roy noticed the alchemic scrawl beneath the newspaper which Hohenheim was actually working on; he had a pen carefully hidden up his sleeve. He had been thirteen at the time, but he had stormed out of the house after _another_ feud with his parents, and Hohenheim was willing to talk to him, unlike the stranger Roy had known him to be up until that day.

He had known Hohenheim his whole life. Roy had a short history with him, meaning they had not seen each other too many times, only on the occasion or two at a conference his parents had liked to attend, dragging him along when he had been Ed's age. The past hurt, and he rubbed his literally bruised temple to ease the memories away of his parents.

There were other matters to think about, like how Hohenheim now had two healthy, young sons.

Despite Roy only being seventeen, his entrance into adulthood months away and his apprenticeship gruelling on for what could still be years, he felt wizened, as though he was older than time itself. His shoes scraped through the remaining snow back to the Hawkeye estate, awaiting the cold onslaught of his master for disobeying his tutelage. Roy should have been taking the outing to develop his studies further. Instead, Roy had taken part in a snowball fight.

As soon as Ed had hurried off to find his mother, Roy's own responsibilities had pressed against his shoulders. He had left the military headquarters without turning back. As he trudged through the snow, a great enough distance away to see the trains rattle by over the landscape without hearing their whining whistles, he left East City's heart behind. In front of him, and above, was the Hawkeye estate, segregated from every surrounding building.

Roy squeezed his hands in self-assurance and felt the inky traces of the letter along his fingers. The address was written cursively, an anomaly to the indecipherable scrawl of a scientist which was his usual handwriting. However, this letter was vital to his future. It would change the course of his future deciding whether to send it or not.

And then there was Ed.

Why did he feel that meeting a five-year old boy was shaping history too? As Roy approached the house, his mind fluttered to Hohenheim and Ed again. They were crucial to the survival of Amestris, but he damned did not understand why. And he hated not understanding something. This feeling of uneasiness was identical to the planar dreams he awoke from almost every night, surpassing the grotesque monsters his other friends had had nightmares of, but these had drifted away with age. Roy dreamed of the same white, blank void, the mirthless laugh and a decrepit, looming Gateway every night. Every bloody night. Whenever he tried to speak the tumult upon his mind, he could only ever utter two words. " _Before October."_

What the fuck did that even mean? Eighteen harmless Octobers had passed through his lifetime, uneventful at most. He didn't have nightmares; he was trapped in an endless lullaby of Fate, and even Fate was most likely too exhausted to expend pity upon him. So Roy kept feeling that feeling…of nostalgia.

The feeling was distant, but during that snowball fight with Ed, on one of the few occasions when he could behave how he wished, since he wasn't technically an adult until late spring, he had eerily noticed how his dreams were cropping up in reality. A stark white landscape of snow, which represented the white, blank void. Iron gates swallowing their victims into the fires of Hell, which represented the decrepit, looming Gateway. Seventeen years of his life had been riddled with mysteries and lies, and somehow they were intertwined with a family living the opposite life to him. Hohenheim and his children. He had puzzled over those dreams for years, but today was the first day they had haunted his fully conscious self, when he had first met Ed. He also despised the concept of destiny, but as he trudged up the hill, a drift of breath clouds billowing behind him, he knew he would meet Ed again. And he _still_ didn't understand why.

But Hohenheim's family would have to wait. There was more demanding decisions to be made tonight.

He heard his feet press against the cobbles. He had arrived back at the house and he instantly dreaded the disappointment his master would express. Berthold Hawkeye never became mad; he possessed too much caution and he never praised his students; he possessed too much sturdiness in his heart to begin relenting now. But his master was a genius. Roy sighed. Perhaps now was time to tell his master about the doubts he possessed about Hohenheim. Perhaps now was the time to share his intentions with his master, the very purpose he had ventured into the heart of the city alone that morning. To join the-

"You're back." The door widened open, creaking with age. Her arms were dragging him into the house before he could reply, and a warm black coffee was pressed into his hands. He shrugged the coat from his shoulders and allowed it to drop to the floor as he picked it up, placing the limp item onto one of the hooks lining the entrance to the house. He entered the kitchen. Dinnertime had definitely passed, but he saw the freshly prepared dinner, steaming with vegetables, plated and waiting on the table. He blew at the coffee broth and allowed the flavours to course throughout his body. Caffeine was truly a beautiful blend and he had missed it throughout the day. They would be apart no longer.

But Riza and her father were more important to him than caffeine. After his…depressing experience with parents, she had convinced his master to take on an apprentice. Providing that Roy worked for his studies, which with caffeine was a possible feat, and contributed to the upkeep of the house, he would be a residence of the Hawkeye estate. Even so, there were only four residents. Riza, his master, Roy himself and Dapple, the lousiest name for the minuscule pony who had wandered from their neighbour's garden a year before. Riza had started to feed him. Dapple liked the food. So Dapple stayed. It would be a mistake in stating that Dapple was a dappled pony. He most certainly was not. Calling him "the beast" was a compliment Roy offered to him. The creature was a real menace.

If he peered out of the window, the beast would be summoned in his ever-perilous quest for his next meal across the icy lawn. He would have been fed at least three times already. Riza was quite besotted with the creature. Roy glanced around at her, "How many times?"

She knew what he was referring too. "That pony gives me more company than you do in a year. He'll get extra hay when he wants."

"Are you implying that I am a horse?" He taunted, his earnest tone wreathed with sarcasm. Her response always made arriving home a welcoming experience.

She glared at him with those amber-brown eyes and after she had turned longingly out of the darkening window, her gaze softened. Surprisingly, she smiled, a rare and pleasant gift, and moved out of his line of sight, exiting from the kitchen for a moment before she reappeared climbing the stairs to her bedroom. Her father liked to attend to alchemic matters personally or with the addition of his apprentice. And she was not an alchemist. "Father is in the study. You shouldn't keep him waiting."

He nodded brusquely but she had vanished into the hidden unknown of upstairs. And he swiftly drank the remaining contents of his coffee, including the bitter granules submerged within which made him wince every time. Even though he looked more of an urchin than Edward, semi-dried hair sticking up in all directions, odd shades of purple and black lining his face from where ruthless snowballs had collided with his skin. His master would notice the bruises. Only Roy Mustang was battered to pieces in a snowball fight. Roy deposited the cup next to the untouched meal and left the kitchen.

The remainder of the house was a library. Books, tattered and torn, lay strewn across the shelves hosting heftier volumes, and some were woven with gold or silver embroidery. As Roy strode towards the study at the end of the hallway, he wished that he could immerse himself in those books to keep away from his master. Yet he arrived at the study's door too soon. His fingers grappled at the door knob and his other hand tapped once on the wooden frame. Berthold Hawkeye murmured his salutation.

Roy eased the door open, welcoming the familiar aroma of lofty volumes and the gentle burning of candle wax on top of the desk. The study was packed with more books than the entire contents of the house, and the only place to have comfortable leg space was sitting at the desk. And his master was in that astute position, head bent, knees tucked, hand writing composedly, the same as when Roy had stumbled into the study begging for Hawkeye's tutelage. Even now, Hawkeye was unchanged despite the turmoil of time, as though he had not left the study in the two years that Roy had been living with the old alchemist and his daughter.

Roy always started talking first. Otherwise the night would have lapsed by in silence, and Roy honestly felt that the majority of his time in the study was spent talking to himself. He rarely held anything back from his master, but what he had done today…He had decided to join the military, and become a State Alchemist.

He paused by the door, waging his two choices like a game of poker which refused to end. He had collected the subscription letter from the military headquarters and filled in the appropriate details that morning. Nobody needed to know he wasn't eighteen yet. He had the attitude of a seventy-year old man as well as a seven-year old boy at the same time according to Riza. He had not sent the letter through the post though; it remained in his pocket. He could change his mind. Did he really want to chain his life to the State forever? He knew, especially with the unrest in the East Area, that once a solider donned his insignia, all he could do was ascend, descend or remain level through the restless ranks. The insignia wasn't emblazoned upon his uniform, but rather a death warrant revealing the inevitable. He would likely die wearing the ultramarine uniform of the military. Was this what he wanted?

Yet he was stubborn, and unwilling to relent. In truth, he hardly knew anyone. He was locked away studying. But out of those he did…he would protect them until his dying breath. And the way to protect was to fight, even joining the military for a country which laughed at the concept of a democracy. Laughed? No, _mocked_ was more appropriate. Once he had finished his studies, he would have the power to protect and help revert the country back to its rightful status with equality for all. Of course he was young and naïve, a foolish dream many had envisioned before him, but damn was he stubborn.

The only way to gain power was through the military. That was all the Fuhrer currently cared about upon his throne in Central. But…how could he dishonour his master in such a way after all he had been given?

The candle wax was still melting; the only indicator that time had not frozen. At that moment Roy was the most mercurial human being in the country infested by war. His choice: loyalty to One, his own honour by sticking righteously to his master's principles (Hawkeye despised the military), or loyalty to All, the World and protecting its future. Join the military or not.

"I have to ask you," Roy closed the door behind him, never turning away from Hawkeye's dreary eyes until he stood with his back against the shelves beside the desk. He wished he could wake up tomorrow morning despite the consequences. The anticipation was dreadful and like usual, he was unprepared. He would have to improvise. "Why do alchemists seek perfection?"

"Quintessence. And you know it," Hawkeye was stooped over his research presuming to write, obviously disappointed with his student. "The perfect balance of the four elements allows the alchemist to harness his own catalyst, his soul. His alchemic power is amplified."

"Power used for their own avarice. A tool which can be used to destroy and reshape the course of history." this was it. "But that power can be used for good."

Hawkeye sat up, like a deadened husk reanimated and turned to face Roy. Roy reciprocated his master's silent interrogation, staring back at his master, his own ash-tinted eyes reluctantly portraying his joy for a debate. Hawkeye continued, "If an alchemist reaches quintessence, Roy, they know the truth to form the correct decisions."

"Could I ever reach this perfect state in the world that we live in?" Roy sucked in the smoky air deeply. He wanted to sleep. He knew of all the basic principles of alchemy and exactly what quintessence theoretically required in order to be achieved. But in practice? He thought of Riza feeding that oversized menace in the back garden, the Sun's rays dancing amid the grasses around her. He thought of Hohenheim intently pondering over his notes in the coffee shop, determined to solve the riddle for a forgotten ideal. And he thought of Edward, so alike and unlike his father, smiling in triumphant glee at winning a snowball fight. They would save the World, but he had to be the one to protect it.

He made his choice, clutching the paper tightly to remind him that this moment was not an illusion. Roy would choose the World; he was _willing_ to choose to save the World. Or perhaps he had made his choice too many lifetimes ago.

"I'm going to join the military."


	4. Talk the Talk

Before October

So Roy can talk the talk, but he cannot walk the walk, or perform any real alchemy yet. XD Sorry not sorry, Roy!

Next part will be up soon. For now, enjoy!

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Chapter 4: Talk the Talk

Roy was staring at the dining room table, his eyes seemingly focused on nothing, and not at his finished meal abandoned to his side. Roy was staring at a military pamphlet. _Induction Evening for the Military Academy, Front Gate, East City Military HQ, 7:00pm prompt start – scholarships available!_ The last two words were hastily scribbled in a dripping ink at the bottom of the advertisement to encourage the gullible recruits to line up at the headquarters' doors. Him.

The apprentice kicked his legs out and slumped as though his body was being swallowed by the table. True, he wasn't one was wallowing. But even _he_ had been shocked to his master's response to his self-declaration in the study:

"I'm going to join the military," Roy had attempted to pump out his chest, the spitting image of a military general. Instead of his hands slipping into pockets, he held them firmly behind his back, straightened, and he had nearly hit his head on the ceiling, lower than Roy had assumed.

The old master dug his hand into the current of papers spiralling into the air on his desk. His hand moved through the reams with an uncanny accuracy, as though he had a photographic memory of the contents which had passed under his nose throughout his years of research. And he pulled out one article, buried deep in the pile; if he could have smiled, he would have in response to Roy's nonplussed expression. Roy was too honourable to gape at his master but the disconcerting confusion virtually leapt from Roy's astounded face. Roy internally sighed, thankful that Riza, and her camera, were not present.

"Master, how did-"

Hawkeye had handed him the pamphlet he was still staring at after his meal.

"Do you believe that a truth so obvious could be hidden from a Hawkeye?" He had waved a hand in evident dismissal. That was it…That was it? Roy felt like he was floating as he departed the study, sleep-walking, bumping into the door twice before managing to grapple at the handle with a shaking palm. He thought that he was dreaming, and this one was a brute.

There at the table he shuddered, and not from the cold fire unignited in the corner of the room. Roy refolded the corners, the pamphlet reluctantly shaping into a square, a rectangle, what Roy classified as a "triangle" and weird assortments even he couldn't decipher. He should have been jumping on the table pumping his fist with euphoria, but he continued staring at the pamphlet, oddly serene. Roy Mustang could achieve his goals and save them all. However, he felt that he was inching closer to a climax, something even the clock could not prevent. His choice could be leading to disaster. But it could lead to salvation.

He turned his head abruptly around and as he saw Riza make eye contact with him, she was ignored. Of course he needed the company right now, stretched out across the table like an abandoned kitten, but Roy's charcoal depths were studiously looking away. Intentionally. Riza was carrying something heavy, and the grunt of bearing a heavy load followed shortly after, which confirmed Roy's suspicions. She was going out to feed the menace. And the only way…through the back door, which meant traversing through the dining room.

He stuck his legs out, jutting between the table and the opposite wall, high enough so she couldn't jump over with ease and not low enough for her to carry on walking, and hence make a mockery of him. Roy finally swivelled around on the seat and leered at her, his pathetic and pedantic form of entertainment failing to amuse the victim. Riza paused for a few seconds longer, and Roy knew he was being given time to contemplate that fate. And why that thought had some unknown irony…he didn't know.

She raised an eyebrow. She dumped the load by the door. She set herself at a brisk pace and his legs crumbled like wood to the floor. "Never again…" she hissed, her face entirely neutral in the half-light. Roy wanted to turn the fire on there and then to glimpse at her irritated face, but he remembered with disdain that he was only an apprentice.

As he heard the door racket open and about to close, when it stopped. Roy slipped out into the darkness, wishing he had been wearing that damn coat, wet or not. God had suddenly brought Drachma to the East. It was freezing! Roy was a second away from squealing on the spot, like jumping into a frozen shower, its frothy steam feigning warmth when it was housing sub-zero temperatures.

Well, that was winter for you.

"Sh- shoot it's too cold," he mumbled but despite his plaintive cries, his friend was whole-heartedly engaged in a conversation already.

"It's too cold for you, isn't it, Dapple? Why are you outside…were you waiting for me?" How could she employ should an affectionate tone with the beast? Conversation? No. Riza instead cooed to the animal.

She moved backwards but didn't bump into Roy. As she sat down on the steps overlooking the sodden grasses, her hand reached out with hay; there was a tug and a shuffle as Dapple the not dappled pony swallowed his share. Riza was sitting next to where Roy was still hovering. He watched their "conversation" unfold, of a repetitive reach, tug and shuffle. In the distance, the sky was visible, trees skinned bare. The heavens were a clouded confusion of overcast rain and gleaming stars, but at the Hawkeye Estate, it was quiet, similar to the calm before the storm. But there was no storm tonight.

"You really are going to have to start making friends. Entertainment from tormenting me is _not_ the way forward." Riza sighed as Roy reluctantly sat on the dry spot of the step next to her. She was a Hawkeye too and knew about the Academy's Induction Evening. That was most likely how his master had found the pamphlet; Roy must have tossed it on the kitchen counter in pursuit for coffee one day to which she had picked it up.

"Does the pony count?" He reached for some hay; Riza had made the routine appear so natural, but the menace thrust his head into the air, flaring his nostrils, so his teeth protruded outwards in obvious disgust. Roy thought it polite to retaliate against Dapple's response. "I shouldn't have been mistaken! Can I be friends with a donkey then?"

"Don't insult your kin." she replied. Roy was intrigued, and folded his arms across his lap.

"Are you implying that I am a donkey? It was a horse before. You need to make up your mind, Hawkeye." He blinked in quiet acquiescence. She saw through everything. The name suited her.

"I'm implying neither. You're an ass."

What! Perhaps…he smirked, his expression invisible to the stars' watching eyes.

His first true friend, a friend who treated her father's student ever so kindly. Unfortunately, the inevitable prospect of socialisation awaited him tomorrow. He groaned, and Dapple whinnied in ignorant yet melancholy response.

* * *

Roy shuffled beneath the covers resting on his back, wishing the experience of yesterday was some pervading nightmare. He was beginning to think that it was real and he lay there in bed pondering on his master's unusual response. The man was never paternal, even to his own daughter. Berthold Hawkeye was an alchemist; he would tarnish his reputation as a tutor by allowing his student to sign up to become a military dog, while gaining something in return. Equivalent Exchange was the foundation for an alchemist's lifestyle, or one as experienced as Hawkeye, able to contemplate virtue and deceit with a principle. He could apply science to reality.

His master saw benefit in Roy joining the military. That had been Roy's final conclusion before he had fallen asleep. Larks had sounded outside as he welcomed the sleep, fighting the urge to find a source of caffeine quickly, which he refused and surrendered to the muffled comfort of unconsciousness. He had been awake the entire night.

But the alarm clock continued to blare, its sound amplified as it echoed across his bedroom, and despite his yelling "shut up" at the contraption, it still wouldn't shut up. He rolled to his side, slamming a fist on the alarm. It was 6:45pm. Roy would be driven to a point of desperation under few circumstances; deadlines failed to faze him and in his future years, he could arrive at a date a little later so long as he carried a red bouquet with him, he would have been forgiven, but he was Roy Mustang, an alchemist with a reputation of his own to maintain.

He shrugged out of his creased clothes and threw on the trousers to his suit. The blazer was missing. A comb materialised from a bathroom drawer and he dragged it across his hair, abandoning the hope for finding his parting seconds later. Valuable seconds. Roy splashed water into his face, although all that the entire feat achieved was making him more tired. He didn't have time to grab for a coffee as he hurried out past the kitchen. Neither of the other two, _three,_ residents were in the room. One was studying, one was eating, one was most probably laughing at him from her bedroom window, which conveniently overlooked the street that he stumbled down, quite literally. He was wearing his pyjama top beneath his jumper too.

If Hawkeye had not been laughing, she would be in hysterics internally as Roy slid down the hill on his behind, feet skittering into the ground to stand up, which succeeded to no avail whatsoever. Even for all her composure, this was too good a moment for Hawkeye to dismiss as "trivial". Roy would never find out if she had watched him or not. And there was a blackmail he couldn't forget. After this experience, everyone wondered how Roy adapted to the regimented military protocol so swiftly.

But he arrived. Five minutes late. And he had had time to brush the snow from his… He had tucked the top into the jumper and with a few pleasantries; he would blend into the crowd, settle into a seat, and listen to his future.

That was too simple for his life of course.

He passed through the iron gates and ornate lions, and followed along the path. The dull mumble of cars droning by passed through his ears as the lively chatter of conversation with banners pointing towards a secluded building at the headquarters caught his eye. He could even smell the coffee along with the oil-smell of the military as he walked over crunching ice, its echoes faint amongst the calamity of sound elsewhere. Warm lights shone in the darkness as inside the building, winter was temporarily forgotten with the buzz of activity and almost ravenous excitement. The East City Military Headquarters, an isolated and hostile building, was welcoming its newest recruits.

Roy was too mesmerised by the HQ's transformation to notice the man by the door. But he had been heard, and there was no escape.

"Hi, I'm Maes Hughes, and I'm the most loyal family man our military will ever meet!" A man with puckered lips and glasses which bobbled up and down his face, reflecting ludicrously cunning green eyes, met his onyx. They stared at him, as though they were inspecting him. A photograph was shoved at his face, and Roy couldn't breathe for a moment out of sheer surprise. The photograph vanished a second later. The badge pinned to his chest reading, _"Amestris' East Branch Military Officers welcome you!"_ made Roy back away from this suck-up. Already, Maes Hughes was highly irritating to Roy. Thank goodness there were other people to mingle with.

"I am Roy-"

"You live with Batty and Beauty on the hill!" He beamed, but when Roy failed to respond with any sensible remark, Maes rolled his eyes, reluctant to explain the integrity to his joke. "Hawkeye…bird… bats have wings…he his..."

"You are genuinely terrible at delivering insults, that's all I need to know," Roy muttered under his breath, becoming increasingly tempted to curse aloud. He had to bite his lip, his teeth grinding slowly over each other.

Maes ignored him. "So you're an apprentice alchemist! That would be useful for a promotion. I'll stick around. Let's be allies!"

"How about no-"

"I saw an alchemist fix a broken jar before. It did give me goosebumps, but nothing like my darling Gracie-Gracie (my girlfriend you know!)."

"Wait-"

"You have to give me a demonstration!"

"I can't. I am not an alchemist, dammit! I don't know how to yet for Truth's sake!" He made the comment without realizing why he had thought about it.

"Oh…well." _Thank goodness, will he shut up now?_ "Well, that's your nickname sorted!" A bell chimed from inside. "The meeting is starting now and we do want seats, Useless."

"Don't call me useless!" Roy was fuming. Nobody had ever broken his temper; he prided himself in being composed like Hawkeye, except from this buffoon, idiot, fool. "Maniac…"

He had said it. What was he thinking in his sane mind? Sane? Maes Hughes had driven him to insanity in two minutes. "Are you forgetting the 'pyro' prefix?"

Roy sighed, entered the building with Maes and grabbed the nearest chair he could find in an isolated corner. There were a couple of dozen others lined up at the front of the seats, eager recruits, while he had chosen to sulk at the back. At least he would be left alone. He couldn't complete the thought as Maes moved next to him. But Roy had surrendered. "Fine."

"Fine to my hilarious insults or to being allies?" It was then that Roy smirked. Maes was intelligent, albeit in his strange, fanatical way. His companion was now beaming looking into his lap, with an open wallet in front of him. Instead of thinking about his economic prospects, Maes was swooning at the photograph again.

"I'll suffer." Roy reached out a hand in formal gratification, although Maes swamped over him with a bear hug. If Roy had not pulled away, he swore the man would have ruffled his hair like he was a schoolboy. Sweet irony. "And the name is Roy. Roy Mustang, just in case you would like to call me that amid your swarm of insults."

That secured their friendship. But a booming voice had started to deliver his message across the room. How could Roy have forgotten to circumspect his surroundings? Stay alert. He should have known this would happen. Because that voice was an all too familiar sound for the alchemist-to-be.


	5. Ishvala's Cry

Before October

For _Guest -_ I hope you are enjoying October and yes, this fic will be jumping through time periods, which is crazy _and_ confusing!

For _mebh_ \- Thank you ^^ To be honest, I have a few ideas where to take it, but apart from that...the wonders of improvisation XD

* * *

I see the plot bunnies now, but why do they keep running away? Please, little bunnies, I need your ideas! Many of you can sympathise - we're all chasing those damn bunnies!

While I dream of herding rabbits, you good people read on. Please enjoy!

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Chapter 5: Ishvala's Cry 

Roy's eyes narrowed in scepticism, or the impression he hoped to impose upon Maes, as inside, he was furious. Why did _he_ have to be here?

Despite Roy being hidden by a wave of heads from other military recruits, and his body somewhat lacking in height, he knew he would be exposed. Nevertheless, he remained still and held minute breaths which escaped him uneasily. Roy had not seen the man since his childhood, and even those were hazy memories. Although like seeing the bottom of a pool clearly with a stream of sunlight, with all of its haziness drained away, a clear image survived. As soon as Roy had heard that voice, painful memories were beginning to resurface, surrounding Major General Nassor, an ally of his parents, and he hoped that Nassor was now a _former_ ally.

Nassor was altogether ordinarily looking, except for the grizzled pigment which remained as his left eye, spirals of black and white dots. And he didn't conceal the feature with glasses or an eye patch; he revealed its grotesque form to the world like a trophy. He savoured in victory, a desire quenched by war, and how he had climbed through the military ranks as though they were stairs. But he also had a mind upon him too.

Roy gritted his teeth and Maes prodded him in the back, but he barely comprehended the oscillations of the surrounding air particles which his brain computed as words. " _What is happening?"_

Maes would not need to become involved. From his companion's confused reaction and the silent dedicated listeners from the enrolling students around him, Roy decided that nobody else recognised Nassor as he did.

It was then that Roy understood that Nassor was speaking, in that steely voice, mirthless without a hint of warmth, yet enticing, and already the poor military recruits had been ensnared. Roy thought of Nassor's hypnotic eye driving the recruits to delirium, and he choked back a tense laugh.

"I'm not here to give you promises of any kind, of gold and glory," Nassor paced along, but he kept his face scrutinised upon his audience, never looking away. Roy wondered if he was truly blind in his left eye. "You are here to generate your own promises, whatever petty complaints you may possess. Outside of these gates, you can be your deluded selves and fulfil these desires; relationships, study, gold, glory. None of that matters."

Nassor paused, his eye glinting in its spiteful, black shadow as he inspected the room in the silence. Roy sighed, wishing how at least one villain would not be so clichéd. But he was distracting himself and needed to listen despite how shaken he felt inside. Roy dreaded that hypnotic second, ample time for Nassor's lies to imbed in their victims but short enough to maintain his ruling silence, and for Nassor to realize who was sitting in the back row. Roy. Nassor's gaze filed through the rows, pieces of information, ignoring many faces and sternly looking at others, as if to remember a burly-looking recruit at the military academy. The military was all about resourcefulness, and Nassor was no exception. He was searching for potential in the new recruits. However, the tension was beginning to settle, and Nassor resumed speaking only a row before he would have met Roy's unwilling stare.

"Inside, you are ours. We want to ensure the best for our nation, and in order to do so, we receive absolute loyalty. Not _we ask for_ absolute loyalty. We will receive it. If you want a negotiation, become a debater. Here, you are a _soldier_." The seeds of indoctrination were being set. Nassor had passed through the introducing sequence of the military's ethos. He was now broaching the training, the life of a soldier. And the benefits to choosing this path. His victims however no longer had a choice and snatched onto his every harsh word.

Roy glimpsed around with the slightest turn of his head, and noticed that other soldiers had begun to enter through a back entrance. There were twice as many than there had been ten minutes ago, each carrying a rifle at their sides. However, their absent-minded staring at a ceiling or window caused Roy to exhale a slight amount of his absorbed fear. They were not hostile or intrusive. So Roy turned his head further to the side and spoke inaudible words to air. He only hoped that Maes would hear him. " _A distraction. Don't forget."_

Roy interpreted Maes' shuffling as a nod and continued to look at Nassor as he delegated the recruits through the rewards of joining the military. "There are people to trust, to share a common unity with through every consequence," Nassor was nodding his head through some nostalgic experience – even the war veteran did not despise every subordinate he worked with - and Roy was conceding over the fact that the Major General was convincing, even to him a little.

But Roy had come to his decision to join the military and nothing would prevent that…even Nassor. He could not feign his identity for long, especially if Nassor overlooked the training of the new students at the military academy, and why the Major General was giving the address. The nearest military academy was in the West Area near the border of Creta, convenient for the State, he assumed. Roy had to stay; he couldn't leave the Hawkeye father and daughter to the hooves of the menace pony.

Roy was tempted to introduce himself, but he dismissed the idea immediately, knowing it was a rash concept.

Nassor however was engrossed in explaining the rigorous training regime of the new recruits, mentioning how it has had to be "adapted" due to Amestris' political unrest, despite being a dictatorship with a "united military". Nassor had no reason to divulge into the instability of the military, and focused on giving a false, hopeful promise to the military hopefuls. "You are to lead the military to success. Every endeavour for the future is decided by you." _Words for a dreamer's cause. His aim is for everyone here to sign up,_ _all in the name of stopping that military coup…I'm going to join the military…_ Roy wondered, feeling the repercussions of listening to Nassor too heavily. It was hypnotic.

Beside him Maes fidgeted. Only the pivoting of his ankle left and right, but Roy was oblivious and stared on. Roy was acutely aware of a light tap on the floor beside him but still he was lost in his mind, hooked to the bait which Nassor had thrown. Suddenly, a foot dug deep into his pinkie toe and he curled his lip to bite back a yelp, a reflex response. The pressure vanished but pressed harder onto his toe with an alien strength and Roy's eyes opened to reality. Maes lifted his foot away from the black-haired man, unaccustomed to physical pain since Roy saw the illogical inconvenience involved with becoming injured. His master would only demand three more essays and expect them to be of a first-class alchemist's standard due for that same evening. Roy felt his internal pride become more bruised for feeling so pernickety over a toe injury. It hurt. But he had snapped out of his trance.

"Shit…" he couldn't prevent himself from whispering. Maes grinned but failed to make a retort. He inclined his head forwards; Nassor had stopped speaking. And their fiasco had gone unnoticed.

Nassor looked down at the new recruits, and took out his gun from his holster and propped the weapon over his shoulder. He proceeded to march towards the back entrance, to which the soldiers guarding his path saluted brusquely to, all of them his subordinates. The gathered audience stared with admiration evident on their faces – Nassor had their absolute loyalty too. Roy was determined the eye possessed a cruel magic to it. He was relieved that science had made its breakthrough.

Roy had avoided Nassor. A First Lieutenant entered and began to utter about annual fees, the entry requirements, the sectors of speciality…the usual drone of a bored adult, and then the topic of scholarships was mentioned.

"There are numerous ways to earn a scholarship to the East Area Military Academy. Firstly, supreme physical ability which far exceed that of your competitors in the physical exams upon entrance to the academy, in which you will be assessed on your endurance, agility…The second method is through advanced skill in communications or engineering…and finally, through the State Certified Alchemy Programme."

Roy sat up in his seat while Maes dithered off into the recesses of his mind, having worked full-time to pay for his near future. That alongside the inheritance he received from his parents, his funds for the academy were paid for. He had to be prepared for future family-planning with Gracia after all.

"Alchemic research is at a peak in our nation, and those who qualify for our scholarships will gain access to monthly visits to our four operating alchemic laboratories in Central City. There will be an alchemist tutor to guide you through your training as well as the combat training mandatory for every candidate to the academy. Careers involve alchemic researcher, technician, engineer, tutor…and for the most talented, a State Alchemist certification."

Roy's attention peaked at the last two words. The two he had been waiting for. He had a query about the number of labs in the city. Berthold Hawkeye, when he scarcely spoke of the military, did so in a tone of disgust over the foul works of Number Five. It had taken Roy nearly three months to figure out that the old alchemist was actually referring to the laboratories in Central. To be able to visit them and enhance his alchemical skill as a State Alchemist…and that tangent made his query forgotten.

"Considering that two or three candidates receive a scholarship for the State Certified Alchemy Programme, opportunity to become a State Alchemist is rare. In the past fifteen years, the State Alchemist chosen to serve their country…only one has been selected from either academy."

"Basque Grand." Roy finished their sentence.

The tension did not stifle. And Roy could sense it, as though it was a presence. While a chorus of admiration circulated the room on Colonel Grand's achievements, Roy tapped the soles of his shoes onto the ground. This time Maes awoke from his trance. There was conspiracy lurking about.

Light refreshments were brought as the assembled newcomers fell into silence again. Enrolment forms were positioned delicately on the tables, and movement spurred into action like a blur. People began shifting this way and that, glad to be free from the solemn address of Nassor and the Lieutenant they would not remember the name of. That was a secret to promotion in the military – get yourself noticed.

Roy stayed where he was. Maes strolled away and brought him back an orange juice. "Why would you think I would like orange juice?" Roy muttered.

"A first lesson in friendship – likes and dislikes!" Maes took the orange juice from Roy. He sat down again, and when they both noticed it was them two at the back alone, his jovial tone faded. "How do you know Nassor?"

"Bad experience. Friend to the parents," Roy glanced down at his hand, wondering if Nassor was listening to every word Roy was saying, analysing his mannerisms. Nassor was a tactician who seeped into the military for his private benefit alone – victory had to be assured. Roy despised how he knew the hidden truth behind Nassor's façade.

"And what's happening?"

"Something." Suddenly, Roy heard the clomping of boots behind him. Precautious, he rose and walked over to the desk where the remaining enrolment forms lay untouched. Roy shoved himself into the crowd and knew that Maes was close behind. He pulled out a pen from his pocket, which he had miraculously remembered despite his rush to leave the Hawkeye Estate but an hour ago.

His name? Roy Mustang. His age and date of birth? He reluctantly scribbled down his age, seeing as the new term began in June, and he would turn eighteen in May. He would not have to lie. Despite his atrocious handwriting, he managed to fill in the details without a smudge. And at the corner of the page, under the sub-heading of "Scholarship Opportunities", he placed a circle around the State Certified Alchemy Programme, which had been conveniently shortened to S.C.A.P. He handed the form to a military official and would not look back. He had sealed his fate, and he would not take second chances…this time.

However, as he retraced his steps to find Maes, he bumped into someone. Hastily preparing an apology, Roy stuttered a "sorry" as he stared at Nassor, looming far above his personal lower-than-average height. Roy was close to despising the Major General, but Nassor had the ability to govern respect from everyone. Roy searched the crowd for those bobbling glasses, and sighed with relief that Maes was engaged in a hearty conversation about some recent obscure crime investigation. It was only him and Nassor.

"I did not expect to see you here, Roy Mustang." Nassor appeared to be genuinely surprised, his single functioning eye widening.

"Nor I you, Major General," his tone lulled the spitefulness which rested beneath. Roy wanted to end this conversation before he ended up punching the Major General; he had the very poise of his parents.

"Your father would be surprised," Nassor tutted quietly, as if reading Roy's mind. "I assume you have not seen them since your…incident."

 _Any topic except them,_ Roy pleaded. "Unfortunately not, sir." Roy would not mention that he was in an apprenticeship to an alchemist. Hell, Nassor most likely had contact with them! If they were to find out...Roy shivered, despising his parents even more.

"I am retiring from the academy at the end of this term…although if you are enrolling, I may consider another term," Nassor smiled, his teeth gleaming with a predator's cunning. This would end badly if Roy couldn't finish this soon. "Excuse me, but I have a meeting scheduled in fifteen minutes. There has been quite the unrest on our south-eastern border as you would know, and it does not bode well if the commanding officer is late!"

Roy held his breath until the clomping of Nassor's boots faded out of the back entrance. And as he started to weave his way back to Maes, fire exploded in the winter's night. Nassor's words proved true, a prophecy being answered as destiny inevitably unravelled. Unrest…it had to be Ishval.

The tale of an officer shooting a young Ishvalan girl was fading into legend amongst the gossiping military recruits, an event of last summer. There had been some skirmishes, a riot or two, but nothing drastic that would evoke panic in the people, especially in the East City, the greatest military campus with its roots closest to the desert land.

Pain can only be quelled for a period of time though. The Ishvalans wanted their retribution. Roy knew it. The smoke was rising as the initial explosion died away, and fires arose like a phoenix spreading destruction with its ember embrace. Pain building from the pain. And its solution…

Unspeakable silence answered the explosion's whine into the sky back in the room where Roy was standing. Maes was by his side in a heartbeat. "A freak accident?"

Why would the military gruel on about ability and loyalty to its new potential recruits? War. Despite being a fruitless cause which would inevitably lead to ruin, there would be those who served with _absolute loyalty._ These people gathered here. Military officials really were bastards for using them this way. As pawns.

"That was the cry of retaliation," Roy closed his eyes. "That was the cry for war."


	6. The Tide Approaches

Before October

Here we present to you chapter 6 of Before October!

We? Did I say "we"?

The fabulous and amazing Ace724 has joined the team as a Beta Reader! Without her skills of mastering the world- editing skills, I meant, this story would be the literal definition of chaos. So thank you for this Ace ^^

With that, you also fabulous readers, please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 6: The Tide Approaches

 _East City Train Station, while Mustang secures his military Seal._

Last night had been Ed's first night away from his own home in Resembool. It was a late birthday surprise from his mother. But as soon as it had started, it was nearly time to board the train to his country town.

Trisha had arrived at the station in good time so as not to miss the train, and also to prevent the boys from having _another_ snowball fight, of which there had been over ten. She had watched them as they lifted mounds of freshly fallen snow, loving how Ed had a younger sibling to share the excitement of youth with. With a gentle smile peering through her features, Trisha had tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ears. Her mind soon began to wander and she had started to reminisce over her own childhood, a time when she'd been a shy girl.

While Trisha remembered days long past, typical Ed only thought about winning a snowball fight. Finally, in the fourteenth, and final, round he had beaten Al with the same trick he had used against Roy.

Now at the station, the hive of activity of the day was slipping away. Ed noticed the dim lights glowing around the auditorium station as he looked skywards; night was stirring the world into an easy sleep. All he could hear was the quiet shuffle of his feet and feel the clamminess soaking his palm as he held onto his mother's hand, the only force preventing him from becoming lost in this labyrinth. And he could smell the fresh cotton of his mother's dress, the scent of laundry that wafted over the hills on a long summer's day. Ed blinked, clinging to that maternal comfort.

He had been allowed to take off one of his many jumpers so he wasn't the exact impression of a waddling snowman anymore. Even though he argued that people would see him, Al was subject to the same treatment, which Ed deemed a fair compromise. His mum had crooned about how cute he was and how Ed was her "little man" already. Edward Elric could walk into a train station with five layers of clothing on and be proud.

But Ed had not been expecting the swarms of people. Introversion had settled over him, an element inherited from Trisha. He clasped onto his mother and remained taciturn through to the evening, following her directions while mumbling a word or two as a reply. Alphonse was much the same.

The train was due to begin boarding passengers in fifteen minutes. Ed felt his arm being guided to the platform's edge, slippery against his boots, a river of marble covered in ice. His legs kept moving unconsciously before his mum tugged at his arm, noticing he was about to walk over the tracks. She winked at him and Ed mustered an appreciative hum. His body was sagging and his mind was slipping in and out of focus. So…this was exhaustion.

"Ed…big brother…" Edward turned around in response to the whisper, where Al was tugging at his sleeve. He loosened his grip on his mum's hand as he patted Al on the shoulder.

"Bathroom?" Ed asked, securing his gloved hand into Al's. As his little brother nodded in the affirmative, he was about to take a step forward. He gazed back towards his mother, who had taken a seat by the platform's edge, coughing lightly into her elbow. Edward felt so detached from her, as though he was watching a film, or memory, play out and he was hopelessly stuck at the other side of reality. Some visions were just a dream.

"Go on, you two. Just don't be too long!" Trisha shooed them off with a wave of her hands and Ed scuttled off like sheep being herded. Only the power of a mother could calm his rash and stubborn nature.

Ed stumbled on his feet as he accommodated Al's lagging pace. As he pinpointed the sign for the bathroom, he eased his grip loose from Al's hand, turning around and walking backwards so he could keep an eye on his brother. The younger Elric drifted forward in return. Overcoming the desire for sleep, his feet shuffled closer together. His eyes were hidden by curtain of blond hair and heavily-set shadows covered his usually bright aurous orbs.

"We'll call it a draw, ok?" Ed teased, pumping a gentle fist at his brother's chest. It was deflected by Al's puffy coat and Ed had to disguise his laughter – Al had the appearance of a gentle yeti.

Al pushed his hair behind his as if it were the futile struggle at conquering bed hair, his eyes never losing Ed's steadfast gaze. His features displayed wryness; Ed was still grappling onto his dignity and was attempting to preserve it to the best of his ability. Al radiated his joy, "Never, brother. I won them all, except for the last."

Ed rolled his eyes and regaled over his upright posture in comparison to his brother's sluggish walk. He had dignity – he was the older sibling. "Winning thirteen fights is unlikely though, Al, and you know it. Bad luck will strike you down. I'll then win twice as many fights when we get home…"

"Scientists aren't superstitious, Brother." That left Ed speechless and dumbstruck.

There was a thud - Ed and Al had collided into the bathroom door. Ed opened the door to the bathroom with a deft kick of his leg. He then jumped through before the swinging door closed, and he nodded in mock cruel jurisdiction to the resounding thud of Al slamming into it. Al made his entrance seconds later, his face long and drawn like their school teacher constantly scolding them. He wouldn't make eye contact with Ed and lowered his head.

Ed rubbed his brother's hair and hurried to the sinks while Al ignored his vivacious sibling. The creaking of the stall shutting and its metallic lock snapping shut followed. Ed snickered. Poor little Al was throwing a tantrum.

A quick inspection in the mirror alerted Ed that not only his mind was drooping, but his antenna too. Despite the bitterness of winter reigning around the train station, and hence the requirement for five layers of clothing, Ed turned the knob of the cold tap. Water sprayed across the mirror and spattered onto his face. He shivered, hairs rising and prickling along his skin, guarded by layers of wool and cotton. Ed drenched his hands wet, remembering to shove the gloves off from them, and slapped the loose drab of hair back into its upright position. His antenna was restored.

A proud beam settled across his face as Al unlocked the stall and reached up to wash his hands, struggling on his tiptoes to squirt some soap onto them. Ed, having endured a terrific growth spurt after his birthday, and for the last time in his life, was taller than Al, lifted his brother up. When Al's legs left the clutches of gravity, they dangled while Ed huffed at the unexpected weight of his brother. But Al was a whole year, four months and thirteen days younger than him! Still, they obtained enough soap for Al to wash his hands. Ed had to breathe heavily with his hands on his hips, out of breath from the already towering physique of his brother. When he had been the same age as Al, he had been much shorter…

As he recovered, Ed saw Al through the mirror. All Ed could see was the top of Al's head and eyes which lousily rolled like pebbles tumbling half-heartedly down a shallow slope. Ed was adamant not to portray such a weakness with anyone except his brother.

Ed suddenly thought of the long train journey ahead – seven hours of boredom – and stepped into a stall. He heard Al pull the tap closed and the roaring rush of air from the hand dryer like a jet stream being unleashed in the desolate bathroom. When Ed speculated that Al had said something, a crack of voice amid the hand dryer's moans, he shook his head, thinking of how he would like to lean against his mother's shoulder and fall asleep. However, when the hand dryer relented, diffusing into silence, the voice whispered again with greater strength this time.

"Brother…I'm scared," Ed saw the shadow of Al's figure lean against the stall door. He kept leaning so heavily that Ed panicked that Al would collapse to the ground.

"Come on, Al. I'll try not to win all of the snowball fights in Resembool," Ed retorted. Al was silent, without even a giggle or a smart reply in response.

"Brother…have you noticed it too?" Al inhaled deeply, and from the way his shadow flickered, Ed's eyes flashed with anxiety. Al was trembling. "Have you noticed…she can't keep up with us anymore…in the snow…" Ed swallowed the bile building up in his throat while Al stuttered on. "All I hear…is the coughing…Ed, I'm scared."

Ed was up on his feet. He would not let Alphonse cry, no way in hell. As he flushed the toilet and unlocked the door with a shaky grasp, a deafening explosion shattered the cruel repose settled in the air. Ed managed to grab Al as they scuttled like a bundle across the floor, banging into the opposite wall by the sinks. The room was too small for any impact to be too forceful. But internally, their minds were flustered.

The world had rotated in a full circle within moments, a kaleidoscope of colour brightened to a sickening quality. Ed's feet, sturdily grounded to carry the burden for his brother, gained an alien momentum which hurled them forwards, knocking the duo deftly off the earth. The brothers squeezed their eyes shut as white walls…white lights…white greeted them through the anarchy of matter without gravity; a swirling chaos.

But they froze. To an outsider, Edward and Alphonse Elric were a spall of limbs. As they detangled themselves faster than their garrulous spirt of alchemic equations, and jolted to their feet, they remembered the explosion, pandemonium, like an electric shock of truth every amnesiac wished for that brought the conspiracy of their memories to light. Except this was no memory. This was the present.

Mum…

Ed dabbed the soap onto his hands and rinsed them under the tap for a fraction of time. He left the water running, hands a hygienic mess, gloves abandoned, as he dragged Al out of the bathroom. Al was as light as a butterfly and was willingly shepherded by Ed. He was too shocked to speak. Ed repeated the same words over again, "No…mum..."

The bustle of the city station was deadened. People had stopped in their tracks, as had the trains, to stare at the immediate threat surrounding them or in the train's case, puff out steam. Nevertheless, the brothers kept crashing into the onlookers' legs, but the usual complimentary groan and mumble of apologies was forgotten. There was only the worry for the victims with the positioning of the detonation so close to houses on their minds. But more selfishly, their human instinct relayed panic about their own safety; and so the air stank of raw fear.

By some miracle, no glass had been shattered. The western fringe of the train station was panelled with glass (which was removed during the next month as a potential "safety hazard"), and glistened with the reflections of Starlight's tears. Edward cared not about the mirage of celestial lights above reflected by the glass but at the smoke crackling like tendons popping. It hovered above the explosion site, as though it was ruminating between two ideals.

Whether it was a sense of déjà vu or morbid curiosity, Ed was perplexed by the fire spurting outwards like a fighter's thrashing limbs. They were cold flames, a tide of orange carried by winds of ash and dust. Haunting and merciless.

And then Edward saw the flag. A black tree against an orange background which rippled in the breeze like sand waves sweeping through the desert. Ed knew his history. A black tree had been sown into the earth by the god Ishvala, and from it, the desert had formed, and the nation of Ishval had flourished. The tree represented the resilience of a nation through the desert's unchanging years, despite the pain and segregation hurled at them. To any oblivious Amestrian, the tree appeared to be charred already. Little did they know, but the Ishvalan's emblem prophesised their downfall.

Ed was too intent on his alchemic studies to read the newspaper. When he was outside, he was too competitive even to notice that last autumn's farming market had been the smallest in years as people migrated away from Ishval, and not closer to it. Ishval reeked of violence, inflicting its unsettlement across the East Area. Ed had been too absorbed in a book to hear the distant grumble of tyres dredging across the country road as small squadrons of troops were deployed to the source of the East's predicament.

But even he could not be ignorant to Ishvala's cry.

The faint crackles of fire suddenly burst into symphony like fireworks. "Why now? Mum…mum!" Ed thought, unable to form the coherent words.

Sirens whined into the night, like a hive of bees motivated to claim their golden prize, but forging chaos nevertheless. The police had their intentions, but in order to quash this rebellion, the means would not be as straightforward as a drawing board dictated. Ed gripped tighter to Al's hand as he pushed his way backwards through the thickening crowd.

"Al, listen to me. Don't look back. There is only forward. None of this matters – all we have to do is find her," Ed growled, uttering the instructions to calm his own nerves. The lights above were making his eyes giddy, it was almost too blinding to see his feet in front of him. He had to keep going. But trauma was slowing him down. He broke into a run, sheer will driving him onwards.

Please, mum.

He felt like a bird migrating in the centre of a flock. Instinct commanded his path of flight, and every passenger around him knew the way, but he was bewilderingly lost. He closed his eyes, drowning in opaque emptiness.

A mother would never let their children become lost. Ed brushed away tears as he collided into Trisha's lilac dress beside the train platform. Al and Ed continued to hold hands and formed a daisy chain around her legs, where she held them for timeless seconds. However, the train had rolled into the station, and the station master's call for Resembool boarding resonated quiet in comparison to the explosion. The train could not be prevented from departing. People had to be delivered to safety.

"We have to help them..." Ed whispered and looked up expectantly at his mother, eyes glistening with sun struck determination. Ed paused, seeing the concentrated hue in Trisha's eyes. He followed her gaze, and Al copied his brother's response.

As the smoke danced in the sky wrapped in its twilight satin, the fumes were ascending, and features on the ground were becoming clearer, like a morning fog lifting. Edward gasped, as the distinguishable outline of charred trees appeared in his line of vision. They were spindly fingers reaching for the heavens, veiled in shadow. But they were trees nevertheless. Trees which joined up like a dot-the-dot game to form a perimeter, an outline, in the rough shape of a circle.

In the centre of the ring of bark and twig trees, the Ishvalan flag of the black tree was mounted. Ed felt Trisha nudge his shoulder lightly, encouraging Ed to analyze his surroundings. Here in East City, open spaces were rare, and hitherto roads and transport, always bustling like the fanfare of people at the station, dominated the landscape. The military headquarters were detached, existing as a separate entity. But what they all had in common - there were no green spaces; the only of which was locked away behind the gates of the city's military HQ.

And that meant the only place with enough trees - where the explosion had occurred - was the park. Ed listened, but only the now familiar whine of military police sirens wailed on. No ambulances. For city dwellers relished their home comforts more than the blustery outdoors. So in the middle of a winter's evening, nobody would be in the park, which everyone unanimously agreed to like unspoken consent: Nobody had been injured!

"It's a warning," Ed and Al said in synchronization. While Ed laughed tersely, the sound as fast as a butterfly's wingbeat, Al turned back to the train and their mum. "Is everyone really going to be ok?"

Ed could see what Al was referring to behind his brother's golden cropped hair. MPs were arriving at the scene, and perpetrators had been brought to their knees as well as being cuffed. All of them seemed to be Ishvalan; their white hair was stark against the bold street lights and dusky hues of darkness swamping through the sky. However, they were not struggling to be free. They had made their point. Enough was enough. Their heads were bowed with content smiles drawn across their faces, waiting beside the MP's cars to be taken away.

* * *

As the boys boarded the train, Al rushed on ahead to find the seats he had pinpointed with eagle eyes, and had already claimed inside of his mind. Ed rolled his eyes. While his younger brother pursued his endeavour and ploughed forwards through the aisles of seats, Ed let the familiar rhythm of his body slow down to a halt. Ed couldn't hear the heavier click of his mother's shoes on the rattling train carriage. He glanced around and immediately felt bile rise in his throat as his hands started to tremble. Winter claimed his sudden panic. And then he started to shiver violently - but not from the cold.

Trisha was doubled over, a hacking cough tearing free from her delicate form. And Ed rushed forward, but buckled at his powerlessness to stop the coughing.

He could do nothing.

* * *

Roy swore under his breath as he heard the undeniable creaking of the headquarters' iron gates opening again. They had swung reluctantly open a dozen times in the past twenty minutes. The patrols of military police were racing to the source of the explosion, sirens blaring while animals bayed. It was a ruckus.

But there was no screaming. There must have been no casualties. At least the MPs could be appreciative for that.

For the recruits, they were speaking with each other in hushed tones, obviously perturbed by this turn of events. They obviously were ignorant about Ishval. Too damn hard for them to read further than the front cover of the newspaper, Roy couldn't help but sigh. Meanwhile the military personnel were solemnly looking out of the windows and door as the initial rush of panic subsided. Nobody moved to collect the enrolment forms. Nobody moved to refill the empty cups of tea, coffee, water, squash, apple juice even…and orange juice.

Maes was tapping at his purse impatiently, although his "Gracie-Gracie" lived in Central and only came to the East during the spring, summer and autumn months as Roy had been informed about twice from his companion. Important details. Maes continued to tap, eyes narrowed in furious thought.

What surprised Roy the most was Nassor's complexion. He had calmed what would have been mass panic in this assembly room, delivering orders efficiently to his subordinates; everyone was to stay as they were. But the palms of his hands were rimmed with condensation and there were a couple of loose flicks protruding from his pristinely combed hair. Nassor had not orchestrated this event. The Ishvalans had acted independently.

And so vengeance was sown. No more coercion for Ishvala's people by the military.

"Damn," Roy said through gritted teeth.


	7. Come and Go

Before October

Hey everyone! Here is chapter 7, but it is definitely more chapter 6.5. It's an interlude chapter if you like :D And just in time for October 3rd...don't forget. Our hearts are going to break again tomorrow... *Gathers the tissues*

Let's make it a celebration instead or I'll try to... I want to bake an apple pie but I would probably burn the house down in the attempt XD

Of course a huge thank you to Ace724 for her fabulous Beta work! Where would I be without you? XD

Until next time folks. Enjoy!

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Chapter 7: Come and Go

Riza Hawkeye had been attempting to distract herself, although her baking efforts had failed; the mixing bowl and kitchen utensils in her hand had yet to stir the ingredients laying blandly in the bowl.

With having two incompetent house members to contend with, she had become the sole cook in the family. But she was not a housewife. She would not stoop as low as that. She sighed, staring out of the kitchen window and down the hill towards the city. In this house, her house, perched alone on its hill, she continued to mix the cake batter, wishing the thoughts of isolation away.

There were days when she would see neither her father nor his apprentice while they were locked away in the basement working on their strange alchemical research. Roy, puzzled and apprehensive, dragged the lofty volumes of books with him daily to the basement. And then he would return upstairs momentarily to collect all of the raw materials Berthold Hawkeye demanded that he retrieve. Of course, as an apprentice given free lodgings for two years this was the least that Roy could do.

So that left all of the housework to her. But not under any circumstance was Riza a housewife or an alchemist. And this she could be grateful for.

It meant that she could speak to her father any way she wished. Especially in the recent weeks. Her father had walked with an unknown grace about him, his movements fluid as opposed to his usual stooping over. He had even shaved once or twice; he was wearing the masculine banner of pride, a banner which Roy was clueless to. These subtle changes hinted that something had happened. Riza was skeptical. From the little emotion her elusive father revealed, his change in attitude may have been through a breakthrough in his research.

Riza thought that her father had discovered how to bring his theorems of flame alchemy into the real world.

Much like her, he was a bridge of secrets, veiled in a mist of impenetrable strength. The heart, and emotions, was a weakness, so he had locked that vault and thrown the key into chaos-spurned waters the day her mother had died. Yet Riza had not succumbed to that. She could still muster a laugh and smile. But her father…

He wasn't paternal – she hadn't had a birthday present from him since her mother had died.

The year after she had passed on, leaving Riza alone with her father, had been unbearable and even though she would never have abandoned him, she had been tempted. On multiple occasions. They had rarely spoken, and the air sparked with frosty electrical tension. Roy's arrival had been a break from that tension for the Hawkeyes, and for her, it was the addition of happiness to the somber house which had always been her home. It was not until Roy's arrival that she had outwardly called it "home".

That day when Roy had stumbled to her front door in the storm and rain.

Her eyes shut as the bittersweet memory flooded through her consciousness. She was no longer surrounded by the suckle honey smell of burning candles and the sweet aroma of cake batter, and there was not silence like snow falling in the present season of winter. Instead, rain was lashing downwards from the heavens. Instead, the air was cold and frigid, lights extinguished, hovel-led in darkness. Trapped inside that house, she didn't know if it was day or night; Riza was now lingering in a memory from two years ago.

* * *

Riza's past had never been a warm place.

Riza's body had started to shiver. She had been sitting on her bed, watching the seconds drag by, and only at the count of every hour, she permitted herself a gaze out of the window over to the cemetery. It was a foolish, hopeless childhood fantasy. But it was her escape from reality. If she concentrated hard enough, she could have woken up in a world where she accepted that her mother gone.

But she refused to believe this. She refused to accept how her mother's casket had been lowered into the earth. And still Riza's mother had continued to slumber, an eternal dream which the dead could not be aroused from, despite her daughter's bitter cries into the night. What was worse…was after that day Riza had slipped into silence.

As she stared at the clock, she heard the familiar squeak of stairs and of a door opening on its hinges. She froze and stilled her breathing; her eyes became fixed at her bedroom door, afraid that her father would discover her still awake. For the clock read that this time… was the exact time between midnight and dawn. Taking not a second to grieve, Berthold Hawkeye's coping mechanism was working his mind even harder, so his research time crawled into these early hours of the morning. Even he needed to sleep though, and as the hallway stilled after its temporary disturbance, Riza's eyes returned to the clock. Seconds passed. In silence.

This time was a hellish sanctuary. While she had stared at the wooden hands of the clock inching around, there was nothing else she was required to do. But that made her think.

She thought about her gaunt frame unable to support her weight. She thought about prospects, about ideals, about every trivial matter. About the future.

But who was there to talk to? Her recluse of a father? Her mother was gone...

Riza would have cried if she had any remaining strength left to. So she let the sky do it for her.

She tucked her knees into her chest and widened her focus to the winds outside. It was a tumult outside; winds moaning sporadically with bullets of rain driving its agony. It paused for a moment to prepare its next despairing breath of ruin. Every pause and break in the storm renewed the sky with a greater strength, and it pounded the earth in a flurry of mud and water. The rhythm was soothing, and soon Riza found herself surrendering to sleep – a shitty human requirement. She only had another ten minutes to go before the clock would chime, and she could steal a look out of the window. The circle would start again.

And was her fate…just some human ideal? Some false wish which could grant her "happiness"?

Nothing had prepared her for the banging which nearly rattled the frame off of her front door. There was a pause, and the banging started again. Riza's back arched and straightened, jolted awake from the unexpected noise. A superstitious side to her had been revived. Was it...her mother? She dismissed the thought as she grabbed for the covers at the end of her bed and buried her head into her pillow, where she would make her retreat. It was a storm, and the East Area was prone to the worst.

The door was thumped at again with an alarming strength. Riza allowed herself a glance out of the window, away from the clock and covers to see dark clouds massing above, anticipating and brewing their crescendo. But Riza shuddered, wondering if the dead really could manifest from their graves…Down the stairs, along the hallway, through the kitchen to the doorway. Could it be…?

Her mother was gone though...Had she come back to answer Riza's desperate cries?

Riza shuffled out of bed like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. She made no sound. Her footsteps treaded lightly on the floorboards, taking care not to usher a sound. Their closest neighbor lived with their horses a five minutes' walk along in the next ascent of the hilly outcrop massing around East City. That neighbor said "Hello," and "Goodbye," and there was the limit of their conversations with the Hawkeyes. Someone so monotone would not be the one at their door. And the father and daughter were not situated closely to the city to be of any larger help to its citizens, planned for the convenience of undisturbed study on her father's part. Nobody in East City would come to them in an emergency. Then...who could it be? There was only one possibility. Had her wish to see her mother again been answered?

No...

Riza swallowed the anxiety welling in her throat. Loose sweat dripped off her face. But she was silent. She had reached the stairs and was staring down at the ground floor from upstairs. The stairs were entombed in darkness without an ending. As Riza adjusted her footing to land on the step without applying too much pressure (for this was the creaky step), it was swallowed into the black. Everything below her knee became invisible as she squinted, agitation commanding her cautious climb down, down, down.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Was that the door or her heart? She couldn't tell. And as she entered the kitchen, a hand on the side wall to direct her way through the dark, refusing to turn the light on in the process. She had to tread carefully towards the unknown behind the door. It could be anything. Kitchen knives were stored in the drawer to her left as her hand slid over the cold stove. Riza's fingers wrapped around the handle. As the drawer moved outwards, she loosened her grip. The knocking had stopped to be replaced with a hoarse whisper.

"Berthold Hawkeye…it's happened," a voice, hollow with emotion, echoed from outside by the front door. Riza shook her head after imagining a door talking. But the voice...didn't belong to the voice of her mother. It was masculine.

It must be a dream. She had rarely had the pleasure of lucid dreaming. So she propped herself up upon the kitchen counter and watch the door with her steadfast regard. All she had to do was wait until her brain roused from deep sleep, and she would wake up, most likely slumped against the wall in her bedroom, where she would have fallen asleep waiting for the clock to ring at every passing hour.

Her head snapped around as she heard footsteps echo through the hallway. Adrenalin controlled her actions. She grabbed the drawer, pulled it open so utensils spilled over the floor, a discordant clatter of metal clashing with metal. The sound it produced rang throughout the house.

With the knife in her hands, she stood in the middle of the kitchen, her head swiveling from one door to another, her back pressed to a wall. She would not relax her guard.

Both the front door and kitchen were unresponsive, meaning that no noise came from either direction. Riza was methodical; she had clearly heard a voice at the front door, so she moved in that direction.

Apparently having listened to her movements, a voice croaked once more. Its tone was deep, a masculine voice and Riza could clearly distinguish the trembled breaths which rasped from his body. He was surely alive, but it was a voice she had not heard before.

"Berthold Hawkeye? I need your help…" And almost begrudgingly he added, "please."

Despite not asking for her help directly, Riza was disconcerted; nobody asked her for help. For she was the nothing, without even a shadow for company. But she had not spoken in a long time and had lacked the emotion to cry, to scream, to do anything. She had stood beside her father at her mother's funeral, lugubriously so to the few spectators and between them they had been unable to shed a tear. Courageous was she not. Riza Hawkeye was the remaining fragments of a pitiful soul, and beyond saving, considering that when she slept, visions of death and Hell filled her vision. Perhaps inside she was a ghost already.

"Hello? Are you okay?" The voice was followed by a weak laugh. "We can swap places if you wish. It's damn cold out here."

Here? Riza felt her hand cling tightly to her jumper, right above her heart.

She reached for the lock on her tiptoes and twisted the bolt. It was an instinctive move as Riza battled to open the door against the torrent outside. And standing huddled in a fleece soaked through carrying a bag which was naught but empty by his side, the man pulled back his hood and beamed that lack wit grin. His hair was a black mop dripping down the sides of his face, scruffy and poorly cut, while he shivered feverishly. But what surprised her most was that he couldn't have been much older than she was.

As she moved to open the door fully, the man stood where he was. He appeared to be younger than his deep voice implied; and for his age, he was short.

"This is the Hawkeye Residence I hope? I'm sorry to intrude upon you like this," he shook the rain from his hair (which was replaced with more rain a second later, making the effort pointless) as a cough which hacked through his body like his rib cage was shaking. He extended a hand bound by a sodden glove, his expression earnest and sincere. "The name is Roy Mustang."

"Did I hear you say 'Mustang'"? Riza nearly lost her footing on the ground as her father strolled into the kitchen, fully clothed with his hands intertwined behind his back. His gaze wandered absent-mindedly from the metallic utensils spilled across the floor to the knife Riza was still holding, and finally to the sodden individual who had landed on his doorstep.

"Yes, sir," Mustang bowed at Riza's father, a reverent movement which finalized with his coughing over again. "Please, sir. I know you are aware of my lineage. I'm a skilled learner and an accomplished alche-"

"You believe you hold the right to call yourself an alchemist?" Berthold mused returning a hand from behind his back to scratch his chin. "A brave notion, considering who your parents are."

"I need you to become my master, sir. I cannot go back. I'll never go back!" Rain dripped down his face, his expression neutral, and Riza caught the first look of his eyes. Frost-fire. "I'll stay and endure through any training. Nothing compares to the hell my parents forced me to call 'home'".

Instead of meeting Mustang's eye, Berthold turned to Riza, who blinked in unfamiliar surprise. The attention had turned to her. He cocked his head, ratty hair trailing down his face. "What do you think of the matter?"

She stared out of the window at the same spot she looked at every night. Even if she wished the figure of her mother would appear in front of her, and swiftly speak the words of comfort she needed to hear, Riza knew, she bloody knew that her mother was dead. She would never see her again. And yet a small part of her mind had commandeered that if she was rigorous in delivering her nightly rituals, she would be rewarded. Through the winter, through the spring, through the summer and now through the last remnants of autumn. If she looked at the clock day and night, her mother would eventually answer her silent prayers.

Riza didn't want to be alone anymore.

It had nearly been a year since her mother had been gone...

Her mother had gone.

Riza was cold. The storm was whipping frantically against the house with rain spatters targeting every part of her body. Her blonde hair was limp at her shoulders, a lifeless doll of a thing. She was so cold.

But...she was warm inside. It was like a cherry red flame had started to burn, destroying the numbness, scorching the blanket of grief that had prevented her from feeling anything. For too long.

She wanted to feel the warmth she felt inside forever. She didn't want to be a ghost constantly haunted by her past. And perhaps this man on the doorstep would be the one to save her.

"I…don't…want," she struggled for words. It seemed strange to form sentences on her tongue. She stared straight at her father. "I don't want to live like this any longer, Father."

Berthold however was examining a knife from his kitchen drawer, apparently oblivious to the presence of Riza and the young Mustang.

She instead turned to the black-haired individual. "And I don't want to swap places with you, Mr Mustang."

* * *

The memories would have continued forever. But present day Riza could smell burning and instantly snapped out of her trance. As the mixing bowl and cake batter once again commanded her line of sight instead of a younger Roy at her doorstep, her eyes narrowed. She could definitely smell fire. She was familiar to its stench all too well.

Outside of the window, parts of East City were in flames. From her place on the hill, the sight was almost romantic.

Flames...like the flames of warmth Roy had given to Riza.

"I guess this is it then. You're going to leave home soon, aren't you, dumbass?" Riza said wistfully into the still night. She pushed her baking project to the side and rolled up her sleeves to escape to her sanctuary.

"I bet you need feeding again, Dapple. I know you feel lonely sometimes too."

Won't the feeling ever go away? First her mother had left, and now Roy...

Riza wandered to the back door, and after pulling it open, she stared at East City, her eyes resting on the military campus, breathing in winter's chilling scent. "You come home and promise to stay. But then you have to go."


	8. Wisdom's Perspective

Before October

Happy Halloween everyone! I can't believe October has come and gone - it will be winter before we know it! Hot chocolates and snowball fights for all!

Thank you Ace for your fabulous beta work as always :D

* * *

For _Wandering Snow -_ thank you! We're going to see a lot more of Roy's parents in this story, and just as a heads up, Roy wasn't orphaned when he was younger in this story ^^

For _hannanybunny -_ I'm glad you're enjoying! There is lots more action with the Major General for the next couple of chapters (he even creeps me out though XD) to look forward to ;) And confusion is my middle name - but I promise, eventually everything will make sense!

* * *

Chapter 8: Wisdom's Perspective

 _Winter 1904 - Central City_

Hohenheim swirled the contents of his coffee mug before finally draining the now cold cup. He pushed it away from him and waved a hand to beckon someone to fill its contents back to the brim. He needed it – the news of the explosion catalyzed by the Ishvalans in East City topped the headlines of the newspapers littered across his table. Although these were local, undistinguished newspapers with those headlines on them, as if Central Times and the other popular papers had not heard threads on the news, so clearly Amestris was beginning to forget already. Interesting.

A waitress hurried over to fill his mug for the third time and he ushered her away to place it on his tab. Despite it being during the middle of the day, the rush of the lunch hour was fading as the afternoon hours grudged by to the employees of the coffee shop, and he was the only customer. The usually bustling streets of Central City had subdued while workers were locked away in their offices, sloth ruling their actions as Monday dragged its way by. For Hohenheim however, it was the start of a lead he had been searching for.

Across the table, he reached for the World of the East newspaper, and dashing the front headlines described the shenanigans of rogue sheep escaping from a farmer's market. Hohenheim turned through the first several pages with little success for what he was looking for. All of the stories rarely deviated from the repetitive tales of farmers. To the rest of Amestris, the East Area was comprised of country folk, pitchforks and farm animals. However, in the top left hand corner on the "Events" page, there was a picture which even took him by surprise.

Standing looking out what appeared to be a sheet of glass; bystanders were watching the remnants of the explosion. This is what Hohenheim was searching for. He hoped to find the bastard, the Homunculus, the perpetrator who had destroyed the tranquil East's chaos. And the whole of Amestris for that matter. But the photograph held no evidence to his involvement. Hohenheim believed that he was the one behind the explosion in East City, and that the Ishvalans had been the puppets to that bastard's plans.

However, Hohenheim saw no clues that might have hinted at their involvement; the Ishvalans may have acted independently after all. Hohenheim continued to scan the photograph nevertheless; he could not falter and miss even a minute detail.

His eyes narrowed before confirming his idle thoughts. Even though his back was all that the camera captured, the antennae and short height compared to Alphonse were the identifiable features of Edward. Despite his appalling performance as a parent in comparison to Trisha, he would still recognize his sons anywhere.

He smiled fondly at his offspring, even though the photograph trapped their golden features in cruel shades of grey. It had been a year, and he missed watching his sons play with Trisha terribly, and he yearned for her comforting warmth, her lilac dress and light fragrance of lavender enveloping her body, complete with rich chestnut hair. She was springtime, a time for growth and renewal, and the very thought of her awakened a resolve within Hohenheim. Soon…he would return to his beloved.

Trisha would have to wait a while longer. She would, he knew. But he couldn't keep her waiting for a lifetime; he had many, but she had one.

Another dead end. He drained his coffee, bringing the next newspaper to his attention. All of the stories were scattered, and revealed no absolute truth about the explosion. Why had the Ishvalans acted in East City? Was the bastard involved? So many questions.

However, of one thing he was certain. The shadows were not content.

* * *

 _March 1904 – East City_

He had ten minutes left. Roy was sitting in his room, which was a pile of chaos of clothes and artefacts scattered across his bed. But his suitcase was still empty. Riza would be hounding him to hurry up - they were running late already. Roy's train was due to depart in an hour with or without him. Seeing the state that his packing was in, he thought that the latter was the most likely possibility.

Why did the East City Train Service have to pride themselves with "punctuality and precision"? He couldn't function with deadlines as it was, and with caffeine he was helpless. Just to mock him, the train taking him to the academy's front gates would be coming early as well.

Well, he had to start somewhere. Roy felt like he was starting a difficult and strenuous project that had to be completed in a timeframe - ten minutes. But the clothes piled up around him as if his bedroom had its own personalised mountain range like in Briggs, swamping his confidence. Roy shuddered and scolded himself for falling into the spiral of procrastination which had delayed his packing in the first place.

The very sinful object which had distracted Roy was sitting on his bedside table. It was a postcard with the military academy he was enrolled for pictured on the front like an advertisement brochure. On the other side was a letter written in the elongated style of Major General Nassor, his writing resembling spirals similar to his hypnotic gaze. The contents of the letter drawled on, but the last part had captured Roy's attention ever since he had received the letter last week.

 _I'm pleased to let you know that I will be continuing tutoring at the academy for another year - and I shall be your personal tutor. While you are being trained under me, your training can be accelerated. I am sure your parents would be satisfied with this arrangement too. I hope you will be prepared for the challenge._

 _Kind regards and I'll see you at the start of the new term,_

 _Major General N. Nassor_

Roy combed his fingers through his hair grinding his teeth as the same words lingered in his mind. I am sure your parents would be satisfied with this arrangement too. No matter how he tried to escape from their watch, destiny was chasing him down. They cropped up in his life and dreams like an overcast sky inevitably brought rain.

Similar to the ominous message which was imprinted in his dreams before October, he had had a dream before. One in which his parents had died, and he had been fostered by his aunt, Madame Christmas. That was a good dream…Roy shook his head; it was only a dream. In this reality, his parents were prestigiously alive.

"I'm leaving in five minutes!" the impatient Riza called from downstairs. He could hear her pacing along the hallway. She shouldn't be nervous – after all, it was him who was moving away from their home in East City.

Roy grunted a response which he assumed Riza heard because he received no response. That or she was thoroughly annoyed with him. He chuckled silently to himself, pushing those dreams and dilemmas to the side of his thoughts. Proceeding to open the suitcase to the brim, he emptied his entire wardrobe's contents into it, sitting on the case as he hoisted the case closed, like shutting the lid on a troublesome dream.

He had a rucksack to pack his more personal belongings, and this was mainly stuffed with alchemy books and instruments he regularly used. Roy took more care with his possessions, which included the hilarious photographs that Riza's camera had produced, even though he couldn't remember ever consenting to the frozen images of him nearly setting his hair alight and being near tears when he had dropped a thick volume on his little toe. Riza did it to obviously remind Roy of what a child he was.

Shrugging on his jacket, he fondly gazed around his barren room, its contents now locked away in his suitcase. The only object left was resting on the bedside table. He heaved the contents which weighed more than the steam train he was boarding. Just as he was about to close the door, he retraced his steps and placed the letter into his pocket.

No time for nostalgia. He virtually flew down the stairs as he winced to Riza fixing him with a stare that promised death. Roy knew that they were leaving now.

"You're losing the right to call yourself an alchemist, Roy," Berthold Hawkeye muttered from his place by the study door down the dark hallway infested with books. It was like he was a character of old lifted out from their dusty pages; he spoke wisdom. His tone was as indifferent as ever, but his eyes glittered in the gloom, speaking an unspoken warning.

"I know, Master. I'm grateful for all that you have taught me," Roy bowed his head, knowing he had lost the alchemist's favour, and was eager to make a disappearance from the tension crackling in the air like thunder. He gripped the handle to his suitcase tightly; Riza watched on silently, missing nothing.

Roy was throwing away his freedom, the one sanction an alchemist lived by.

"Search for the truth, Roy. And when you have your answer, I'll share some of my secrets with you," Berthold mused, scratching his chin, "Hohenheim – don't forget his name."

"What do you mean by that, Master? Master?" Roy stuttered as Hawkeye closed the study door behind him. Roy was left standing in the cobweb-riddled hallway with more questions than answers as though Berthold himself was an enigma.

"We have to go, Roy," Riza said, her voice deep and serious before her eyes suddenly brightened and she opened the front door. "You won't be able to stay away without saying goodbye to Dapple."

And Riza was telling the truth. Roy was going to miss this place, even the equestrian menace that ruled the roost.

Goodbye. I came and now I'm going. How time flies by when you have fun.

* * *

Steam. It billowed around Roy thicker than a fog that had lingered for days. He was panting and running for his dear life to board the train which was slipping its way slowly out of the station. He was like trying to capture a light, which seemed a simple concept which was actually impossible. But he had to catch this train. It was the last one leaving East City before the new term at the academy began. He had to board the future.

Riza's feet sounded beside him, but he couldn't see her. She was breathing heavily through her mouth too. Good. She could suffer from their lack of fitness together. Running through this smoke blocked out the budding trees dotting the park next to the station, where the Ishvalan's explosion had taken place and the earth was healing from this turmoil in winter. The flowers had yet to come, but the leaves were rolling loose like laundry blowing on their branches – the world was on the threshold between seasons.

But Roy didn't notice time passing around him. His sole focus was reaching the train before it left the platform fully. He coughed and wiped his eyes, still sprinting at full speed, as he saw the smoke begin to thin around him. The front of the train was journeying into the horizon. For a second, Roy's heart sank and his pace slowed enough for Riza to overtake him.

She stopped abruptly, sweat falling down her face like tears as she shouted at him, "Hurry up, you idiot! The last few carriages haven't pulled away yet!"

Roy rolled his eyes and lifted a mock salute to her as he strained his leg muscles to defy human speed. He leaned forward, suitcase in one hand and without thinking; he grabbed for Riza and dragged her forward with him towards the train. She gasped in surprise but held on firmly. They were close. Just a few steps further…

Roy felt a familiar force squeeze his hand and then let go. He braced his body as the train whistled by, two carriages remaining in line with the platform. One…He jumped, stretching his body forwards, thinking every millisecond that he was going to miss. And fall.

But he had those people to save. His feet scrabbled on the last carriage as if they were surprised by their owner's unexpected ability. Roy clung onto the railing and watched as East City Train Station vanished like the train's steam into the cool morning air.

She was there. Riza stood on the platform, her hands tucked behind her back, her loose hair stirring in the slight spring breeze. The train turned a corner, and she was out of his sight. Until next time.

"Yo!" a voice called to him from above. Roy blanched not only from motion sickness, but of Maes Hughes leaning over him, the size of a giant to Roy huffing on the floor. If he said he was feeling dizzy it would be the greatest lie ever told; he felt inebriated (even though he had never reached that state…yet).

"Why am I not surprised to see you here?" Roy muttered and he shook his head in an attempt to overcome the giddying vertigo threatening to swallow him up. Maes might have lifted a hand down to him to help him back on feet, and he might have taken that hand.

He wasn't sure what he did next. His thoughts lingered with the young woman standing on the platform, and the home he was leaving behind on the hill.


	9. Just a Chance

Before October

Happy December readers! Apparently, it is still a little early to call in Christmas yet... oh well, I'm feeling festive. Merry Christmas! :D Wherever you are, let's hope for snow or sunshine.

Back to the story, this is the one where Roy finally arrives at the academy. But before then, there is some Roy and Maes banter, which makes my day XD I hope you all enjoy too.

As always, a huge thank you Ace724 for your wonderful beta work and correcting my awful spelling :D

Happy reading folks!

* * *

Chapter 9: Just a Chance

Roy shivered, closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet vapours of his black coffee. Damn did he need it right now.

East City was nothing but a speck in the horizon, and as he blandly rested his head against the train's window, he suddenly had a wave of homesickness wash over him, and it hadn't even been an hour since he had left home. East City had become his home – and he knew so little about the outside world. It wasn't as if Berthold Hawkeye was a keen traveler; Roy's master thought it wearisome enough having to trek down to the marketplace to buy all of his supplies at a discount price.

He wondered if Riza would be out taking pictures in the early spring day. She loved spring, he remembered. They had talked about it several months after Roy had moved in with the Hawkeyes. Hell, he was even going to miss Dapple. At least he wouldn't have to compete for Riza's absolute attention now. Roy laughed at the thought of Dapple planning to have Roy move out of the house like the villain that Roy knew the pony was deep inside – and if he had the capability of kicking the apprentice alchemist out of the house, Dapple would have done so a long time ago.

But Roy would miss the pony. Dapple was a part of home.

And the huge world awaited. Amestris was enormous, and he had only explored a speck of its enormity on random trips to Central with his parents when he was younger to see his aunt, Madam Christmas. Roy had called her that for as long as he could remember, and calling her something so formal felt like the norm to him.

Thinking of names, Roy frowned as his thoughts retraced to the numerous, and highly offensive, names that Maes Hughes had adopted for him on the induction night for the military what seemed like years ago. Said individual was sipping at his cup of tea opposite him across the table, and the young man's glasses were misting over. He would rub at them, take a sip and rub again. Maes obliviously continued at this routine for several minutes before Roy sighed. He wanted to interject, but watching Maes making a fool of himself was entertainment too precious to waste.

Roy wondered if Maes was engrossed in deep thought, just like he was. Roy was alerted to the sound of Maes setting his tea back on the table and he rubbed his neck as the joints cracked contentedly. He looked like he was as tired as an animal waking halfway through its hibernation. If only, Roy wished. Yet Maes turned his head quickly around him, and noticing that every other passenger was preoccupied and deep in conversation, he faced Roy again and Roy sensed the flower of anticipation budding in his brain.

"What's going to happen, Roy?" Maes asked, and the way that he phrased it wasn't directly as a question – it was as a statement. It was as if Maes knew that Roy had already had some prior knowledge about what would happen when they arrived at the academy. He shifted uncomfortably, remembering the personal letter he had received from the Major General Nassor and was equally amazed that Maes could read his expression that well enough to know that he had some experience about the military.

"We're assigned to dorms and classes for the new term…" Roy answered sarcastically, but his valiant attempts fell on deaf ears, or Maes hoping that he had deaf ears. Roy had an awful sense of humour. He tried to hide his embarrassment by burying his body deeper into the seat, hoping that he could disguise his presence; he could feel his face flushing a bright red.

Feeling as though he had to make it up to Maes, but also he oddly felt a strong sense of trust with this family man, he moved a hand silently to retrieve the letter that Nassor had written for him. He placed it on the table. Maes looked inquisitively at the letter, seeing the military seal pressed onto the paper and gave Roy a questioning gaze. After Roy had nodded his head in confirmation, Maes picked up the letter and his eye started to skim through its contents. "I would never have thought that you were associated with the military."

Roy was caught off guard from that question. Him…have connections with the military? But then if a cadet had received a personal letter of invitation from a high-ranking officer, that was what anyone would assume. Trying to change the subject, he threw the proposition back at Maes, "You don't have any connections then?"

Maes rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Both of my parents are bakers," Maes stated this fact as though he expected everyone in the world to know it. He stared into his cup at the soggy remnants of his cup of tea, swirling its cold and empty contents thoughtfully. "My uncle died in line of combat against Creta. That's the real reason I enrolled for the East Academy. My parents were adamant that if I wanted to become a member of the military, I would not take a step in the West Area until I had graduated from the East Academy. They were against it from the start, but they gradually accepted the idea, knowing what this means to me."

"Why did you-"

But Maes interjected Roy abruptly. "I enrolled for the same reason why everyone else here enrolled, Roy. I want to survive."

"At least you're calling me by my actual name now…" Roy muttered, sympathising with Maes. He had people who had wanted him to stay behind as well. They were more similar than Roy had originally thought. And yet he knew very little about the grinning idiot sitting opposite him. In return, he guessed, he would have to open up about his past too. But he had opened up to very few people; he could count the number with his fingers on one hand. The only person who knew the whole truth was Berthold Hawkeye. Even Riza couldn't know about his childhood…it was a burden he didn't want to have to place on anyone else.

The childhood which he longed to forget, but continued to crop up in his life nevertheless, like with the letter from the Major General. He tried to forget because he knew that there was no hope in Hell that he could ever forgive him for what they had forced him to endure as a child.

I am sure your parents would be satisfied with this arrangement too. They would have been, and that made Roy scowl even more.

"Nope, you're still useless. You could prove yourself however, if you could show me some of your alchemy!" Maes banished Roy's solemn mood like a breath of fresh air. He would tell…but in his own time, when he had accepted the fact that his mother and father were his parents, and not just strangers to him. They were people. Until he could accept this fact, they would remain the ghosts of his nightmares. Not for much longer though. He knew that he would have to meet with them again one day in the near future.

"What happened to the fact that alchemists guarded their secrets jealously?" Roy queried, collecting the letter, draining back his cup of coffee before it became as cold as ice, and made space on the table.

"Be Thou for the People. Be Thou for entertainment," Maes said, waving a hand in the air. He then burst into laughter at the ridiculousness at his own joke.

Roy snorted too, "You're as useless as I am when it comes to jokes." He suddenly had a thought as the train briefly rolled through a stretch of forest. "Would you like to hear a pun?"

"No," Maes' eyes glittered with amusement. "But I'm going to have to hear it."

"I bet you're already sycamore puns," Roy fell into silence until his face turned purple as he face contorted with laughter. His chest started to hurt.

"Why are you subjecting me to this? Why didn't I choose to make friends with normal, ordinarily boring people?" Maes hissed through clenched lips, trying to swallow the hysterics rising in his throat like bubbles.

Anyone who happened to look over at their table would have been fairly concerned seeing the two young men breaking apart at the seams from their awful, awful puns.

Soon the entire train carriage was abundant with them.

Roy struggled to breathe, inhaling and exhaling deeply despite the soreness in his chest. It had been too long since he had had a hysterical meltdown like that. He wiped the tears from his eyes, wondering how he had made a complete fool of himself again on his way to the place where his life would change forever. However, he remembered the alchemy demonstration he had somehow found himself owing to Maes. He reached for the chalk stored in his jacket pocket – which Riza had forced him to carry with him as a precaution – and set it on the table, alongside an empty piece of paper.

As the familiar image of an array focused in his mind's eye, Roy picked up the chalk and started to draw the base of the first, outer circle.

"I broke this a while ago. My old man would have wacked me with his rolling pin if he had found out…any chance you could fix it?" Maes asked, as a battered watch was pressed into Roy's palms. Maes' nose was still streaming from the laughter, and Roy grinned in amusement. He didn't have much experience with this kind of alchemy, but he would definitely try his best.

From the battered appearance of the watch, but also from the way that the metal shone in the sunlight illustrated the tender care that this old watch had had. It must have been an heirloom and a precious one at that. It was the silent signal of trust which Roy had been waiting for, he knew, deep inside of his heart.

Roy examined the interior design of the watch, noting mentally at how the mechanism functioned and the rough quantities of metal he had to work with. The watch was so small and lightweight that the density and compositional quality of his alchemy would have to be heavily considered too in the transmutation.

As he glanced out of the window, he noticed that they had left the woods. There was a patch of ground they were in which he recognized from his visits as a child…they were nearing the academy. They were already almost there.

Roy placed the watch down on the table, and started to draw his array. Ideally, he would have liked to sketch the array in order to alter the transmutation circle to make it more efficient. He wanted the design to be perfect…for his friend.

He finished the circle, and with Maes watching attentively, Roy touched his hands to the array, activating it as an ice-blue light shimmered into existence. Alchemy started to work its magic at manipulating the watch, moving the gears back from their broken position, amending what had been broken. Roy paid particular close attention to the arrangement of the metallic ions. They couldn't be too densely packed… He felt a bead of sweat drop down his face, and his expression strained in concentration.

He closed his eyes and felt the hum of alchemic energy fade as he disconnected from the circle. The watch on the table was ticking away happily, as good as new.

Eyes were watching him in awe, and Maes had started applauding him, giving him enthusiastic comments along the way. Roy could only look out of the window and stare as the academy's front entrance entered his peripheral vision, looming solemnly over his head, as the train rolled to a halt at its main gates.

They were here, with people gasping in admiration at the sight of their new home for the next three years for the first time.

But Roy had already been here once before. He closed his eyes and braced himself as the memory of the past returned to him…

* * *

A young black haired boy clutched at his father's hand. The touch was cold because his father had his hands gloved. The boy had never felt his father's touch before, or at least he couldn't remember how it had felt.

There was a bitter wind blowing in the air, and the young boy was shivering; he didn't want to be here. But he couldn't disappoint his father. He wouldn't complain about the chilling cold biting at his freezing legs like a wolf's vicious howl piercing through the sky.

This was the first time that his father had brought him along on official military business. He would be meeting the comrades of his father. He had listened to the names of the officers he would be meeting, but their names were like blurs in his mind, and hadn't ingrained into his memory. But he thought that one was called…Nassor? Father had called him a very brave man.

He wanted to be brave too, but the looming building in front of him made him feel tiny, insignificant, scared. The military flag waved above proudly in the sky, but it equally fluttered in the breeze like a trapped bird, unable to escape the chains which kept it grounded. He shivered again, wishing he had brought a thicker coat with him, and he squeezed his father's hand in familiar assurance.

The hand let go of his immediately. He heard his father cough to clear his throat.

"Roy. Try to be a Mustang your mother would be proud of."

"Yes…Sir."

* * *

"Brother. Come on, Brother!" That was Al calling to him. Ed grumbled and pulled the covers over his head. However, Al was as adamant as a stray cat wanting to be fed, and they had had many. Why couldn't Al see that he wanted to sleep? He had stayed up far too late finishing reading an alchemic textbook about the transmutation of water from a liquid to solid state. It was really complicated but also too fascinating to ignore.

And now he wanted to be left alone. Sleep was more important than anything else that the morning had to offer. He had had an amazing dream about becoming a State Alchemist, and he had abruptly been awoken from it by his irritating brother.

Why did Al have to be so rude?

"Later, Al. I want to sleep," Ed mumbled, half to Al, and half to his pillow. He turned his back away from the window to the sunlight already streaming through the closed curtains.

"Sorry, Brother," Al whispered and his voice faded into nothing. Good, now he was going to leave Ed to return to that dream. As he settled his breathing into a deep and rhythmical pattern, he allowed his mind to whisk him away to a large, empty hall. There were piles of raw materials in every corner of the room: organic ingredients, metals and stone, a whole selection of drawing materials to choose from…his heart was racing in excitement at the thought of it.

Becoming a State Alchemist would be wonderful, just like Roy.

He hadn't forgotten about Roy Mustang. On the contrary, he had thought more about becoming a State Alchemist since meeting the man in East City. Perhaps Ed would meet him again one day in the future, and they would both be State Alchemists going on dangerous missions to help save the world…

Ed yawned…Maybe he could do that tomorrow. For now he wanted to sleep…

"AH" he suddenly screamed, as a bright and ominous light started to flash down upon him. His world turned upside down as he fell to the floor from his bed in a thud and pile of blankets. He opened his eyes immediately, his mind disorientated and confused, but on the defense.

His eyebrows furrowed and he crossed his arms across his chest, as he saw a guilty Alphonse sitting on his bed. The curtains had been pulled open, and Edward had been kicked off the bed. "Alphonse…"

Al lifted his shoulders sheepishly down towards Ed, and motioned for Ed to hop back onto the bed, which Ed did. Al pointed out of the window, and Ed gasped.

The ground had been blanketed in snow for the past week. It felt like spring would never come. And overnight the snow had melted, so all that remained of the white blanket landscape in Resembool were puddles as large as lakes, and dew spilled on the grass. He gaped in awe and admiration.

Perhaps he could forgive Al for waking him up so early…

He could hear nothing, except for the quiet breathing of his brother beside him. And down the stairs, all that Edward could hear was the ever prominent coughing of his mother. For the past month, she had not stopped coughing.


	10. Flowing Down Life's Strong Current

Before October

Hello again everyone, and a huge thank you for reading!

Ok. Here we go, going down the current to the place called "plot development". While Roy does some problem solving, Riza is- Oh wait, spoilers. I can't give them away here. XD

Thank you Ace724 for your beta work - as fabulous as ever! ;)

With that, hope you enjoy reading :)

* * *

Chapter 10: Flowing Down Life's Strong Current

Roy was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer size of the buildings looming above him. He momentarily felt like he was a child again, helpless while wrapped up in his innocence. This feeling was not dissimilar to waking up abruptly from a really deep dream, except that this time, the dream is memory.

"Look at how it gleams in the light! See look at this!" Maes was already badgering another military cadet with his new watch, but it snapped Roy out of his trance. He reached out for the man literally prancing around on the train platform and dragged him to his side, as if he was a dog on the lead. Being in the military, then that was what their superior officers could do for them from now on. Absolute obedience.

Staring around at the cadets, there were already distinct groups forming; the outspoken and confident individuals intent on making their acquaintance with everyone in the higher ranks; the intellects huddled in their private corner discussing political matters that they thought nobody else was able to, and then there were the rag-tags. He was in the latter with Maes the man who loved his family and watches apparently.

"Recruits – come this way!" The voice belonged to a low ranking soldier as she led the recruits away from the train platform. As Roy looked behind him, the train was already rolling away in a cloud of smoke. Riza may be seeing the same train in several hours return to East City. It was getting late; he hoped that she had made it home safely.

What was he thinking? Between the two of them, Riza was the mature and responsible one; she had far more reason to worry to about him than the other way around. She knew how to respond to her Father's sharp tongue, and she knew how to please the equine menace that resided in their back garden. Life would carry on, and Roy had to turn away from the train leaving and head towards his future.

Swallowing away his trepidation, he buried the fear and doubt wallowing around inside of his mind – he knew this was the right thing for him to do.

"Poor fools, they have no idea what they're in for," Maes muttered in a low tone by his side. Roy was genuinely perplexed, and his thoughts of home were replaced with this dilemma that his companion had arisen. They were at the back of the group by a great enough distance not to be eavesdropped on but they were beginning to lag enough for it to be noticed by the others. And if their little incident on the train hadn't failed at attracting attention, their elusiveness could. The most dangerous part of being in the military was being noticed…and becoming a target of people who could hold a grudge against him. People who held grudges were always seeking their revenge – these were the military members that Roy didn't want to get on the bad side of. Not while he was still an apprentice alchemist.

But being an alchemist meant that he was already painting a target circle on his back. State Alchemists were known for their power and influence. They were promoted to the rank of Major. Just like that.

He realized that Maes was waiting for a reply, but as Roy tried to think about what had happened so far, logic seemed to have left his mind for a holiday. "What is happening then?"

"The question is, alchemist, where are we going?" Maes mentioned and he pointed to the path ahead that Roy had been oblivious too, following those people in front of him like sheep following a shepherd. They weren't going through the main entrance to the military academy, which he had entered the academy through when he had come here when he was younger. This time however, and the recruits were entering through a back entrance.

"We were welcomed by a sergeant, not a high-ranking officer like Nassor. It's as if they are not willing to welcome us until we actually do something first," Maes began.

"Filling in a form doesn't seem to be a legitimate way of being recruited into the military automatically. You're right; we haven't had to undergo any form of tests for admittance. They haven't been mentioned," Roy's eyes narrowed as he pondered along the trail in his thoughts. "Oh God…now?"

Maes nodded in confirmation,

"You really are not the fool you look to be," Roy said amused.

"Who would think me a fool? I'm just a humble man seeking employment to support my future wife!" Maes chided lightly.

"You're not engaged…" Roy started before Maes was throwing his arms in the air in adamant protest.

"Don't try to crush my dreams!" Maes grumbled and complained like a child who was not given a sweet by their parents, all traces of his former cool, decisive mind-set having vanished into thin air.

"This is ridiculous," Roy drawled irritated as he took Maes by one of his outstretched arms to keep them moving forward. Maes felt like deadweight, "come on, and let's try to catch up with the rest of the crowd."

Maes mumbled something that Roy discerned as being in agreement with him. He fastened his pace to a quick walk and scratched his empty mind for the scant information he had picked up on the military as a boy. They were going to be tested on their physical abilities, being strength, agility and dexterity as well as their aptitude and decision-making skills. Roy felt like he was playing a complicating role playing board game. Ironic, considering how to some people, including some of those here, all that the military was to them was a game, a jump through the career ladder.

For Roy…he was going to take this earnestly. He actually wanted to make a difference. And deep down, even if it was only for his family, Maes wanted to make a difference too. That quiet determination was what united them without the need for words.

They were on a path now, following the river's current, and they just had to make the best of what they were given, and then give that little bit extra. That would make the difference from making changes to this country and forming democracy or living in this militaristic and society conformed to their ways, unwilling for change. But like a breath of fresh air, that was exactly what Amestris needed to survive. And the chance to make allies.

While war was a great solution when you were on the offensive and victory was guaranteed, Roy knew enough about the structure of the military that if the roles were reversed, and they were on the defensive, Amestris would be doomed. Fighting didn't have to be the only solution, but to the military, it was like the only option they were given.

Roy realized how unfit he was when he was out of breath as they rejoined the rest of the recruit. Maes was too. And with a brief glance at each other, they stepped out of the spring air and into the back entrance of the military campus, their futures, which lingered behind those opened doors.

* * *

 _March 1904 – East City_

"Here you are, miss," the shopkeeper smiled as she handed the printed photographs to Riza. It was in the evening, and after strolling through the marketplace of East City, she had come to one of her favourite shops – the stationary and printing shop collected into one. She knew she wasn't talented as a writer, yet she was adequate. Roy would be able to envision a landscape in his mind and craft those into words, like a mathematician devising a formula, but the words remained stuck in her thoughts.

She liked the smell of ink and paper and freshly-printed photographs. They went into her collection in a scrapbook, which was quickly becoming full. The latest editions included the annual family portrait and this year Dapple had made an appearance.

After thanking the shopkeeper politely and handing over some silver coins, Riza held the bag firmly in one hand and pushed her way out of the shop door as a bell gave a faint tingle as she departed. Along with the photographs, she had collected some groceries that would be enough for several days' worth, and the supplies her father had asked her to purchase.

The house was going to become quiet again. It wasn't permanent, Roy believed, but Riza knew that the apprentice alchemist wouldn't be living back at the house for a long period of time. He would spend his days at the academy and then in the barracks of wherever he would be deployed to, or if he had sufficient funds, he would purchase an apartment near the military headquarters that he was stationed at. He wouldn't have to return to their house; he would have a home to call his own.

For Riza, this house was the only place she had known to call "home". The book-filled hallways and creaky stairs and weedy back garden were what made her house home. It was supposed to be about the people that you lived with, but she had also developed a personal attachment to the house. The atmosphere had become warm and welcoming. Thinking of what their neighbors would say about the house was cold and unwelcoming made her chuckle quietly to herself.

It was getting late now and she had to get dinner started, even if she was tempted to buy something hot and fresh from one of the market stalls studded around the side of the streets, side by side with the permanent shops. She could smell sticky honeycomb and cinnamon; her stomach growled and she was sorely tempted to spend the last few coins left in her pocket.

But she shook her head and regained her composure, running her free hand through her hair and started on her trek back home.

Alone with her thoughts, she arrived back home as if no time had passed. The house was quiet and this was one of the first nights since last year that the fire was not on – gradually spring was pushing away winter's icy touch. Times were changing; the ice was melting on the rivers and with the current strong from the thaw, the water was starting to flow again.

The house was swathed in shadow in the stretching twilight, and as she reached the front door, she fumbled in her pockets for the key. When she grasped onto the twig-shaped object and pulled it out of her pocket and slipped it into the lock on the door, it pushed open slowly. A warm smell of the cake she had baked wafted from deep inside the kitchen. She was beginning to improve on her baking – at least everything she baked no longer was burnt to a cinder.

The house was dark. Riza's heart started to instinctively flutter. After dropping her supplies on the table, she peered around to stare down the hallway. Even the lights in the study were not switched on. Which meant…that he was down in the basement.

Riza knew from past experience that Berthold Hawkeye, her father, was close to cracking a mysterious alchemic conundrum. He would bury himself in his study even more than usual, including in the late hours of the night, before emerging into the basement. He was down there for such long periods of time that Riza wondered if he had forgotten what the sun felt like. That feeling seemed to resonate out aloud around the room with its dark walls pressing in around her. The lights were off, and the few candles that were burning were flickering as if with a feverish excitement, as if they knew that her father was at the brink of discovering about a miracle.

Or a sin.

"Father?" Riza's house echoed around the room. She received no answer. She retraced her steps back to the kitchen and turned the lights on dimly along the hallway and in the kitchen, treading silently as she went. Caution was her first thought and she couldn't believe that she was being so subtle when her heart was betraying her, and thumping rapidly in time with her rushing thoughts.

What was he going to do now?

Had Berthold Hawkeye been saving his research until Roy had left? Was this research too secret to share even with his apprentice? Riza swallowed the lump rising in her throat. She didn't dabble into the works of alchemy and now she didn't believe in the supernatural. But she knew about the potential of alchemy and what potency that it could cause.

She wanted to race up to her bedroom, shut the door and sort out her photo collection. She wanted to write in her diary. But a part of her wanted to be part of the world of mystery she had been excluded from. Riza stood at the outside of the kitchen, where the hallway split into two paths. To the right was where the stairs where, and the promise of a blissful, care-free night without the thoughts of alchemic experiments. To the left was the passage to the basement and whatever her father was working on down there.

Taking a deep breath, she chose her path. She turned left.

"Father?" she repeated into empty air again softly. Still she received no reply, and taking a burning candle from its handle, she held it in front of her, and treaded lightly in aid of its ghostly light through the darkness. Night was quickly falling, and the grey sheen of moonlight was shining through the windows. The curtains were closed, but the light illuminated the hallway, elongating shadows as if they were teeth widening out into a menacing smile. Riza could discern spiders scuttling along the cobwebs to retrieve the dead flies they had harvested. The thought made her blood run cold.

And yet she proceeded forward. She was covering barely any distance but suddenly her body felt like lead, heavy and weary. Her legs became noodles, unable to support her suddenly heavy frame. She held her breath and held onto the bookshelf by her side to carry her weight.

Roy would be teasing her if he saw her in this state. Even a Roy procured with her imagination mocking her was too much to bear. She shook her head and crossed the last part of the hallway until she was at the basement door. She could feel the faint rush of air through the cracks, the muttered whispers of someone dabbling into their madness.

Her father wasn't mad. He wasn't. He was a renowned alchemist-

"Who's there?" a voice snapped through the silence, tying a knot to the tension thread building up in her stomach. It was a growl of a question, the spite in its tone as sharp as steel, which faded as quickly as it came.

"Father…it's me," Riza said shakily. She held the knob to the door, but no ounce of her will could twist it.

There was a sudden clatter of equipment and the rustle of movement. She yelped as a force acted on the opposite end of the door, pulling it wide open, and standing before her was her father. Riza knew that he was an insomniac, and buried the hours of his sleepless nights through research, but standing before her now, and he looked properly disheveled. She had only been gone for a day…but his clothes were torn and…singed in some places. The air stank of charcoal and ash. His eyes were lampless souls, his mouth slightly agape with the rattle of air squeezing into and out of his lungs, each breath sounding constricted and painful, as if he had been breathing in something he wasn't supposed to.

Smoke from…Fire.

His voice softened when he saw her, "Oh Riza. I'm glad it's you. You're just who I was looking for."

Berthold Hawkeye was never this sentimental. She glanced up into her eyes, and what she saw confirmed her suspicions. It was also a sight she would never forget.

Her father's eyes were clouded and narrowed like a beady predator, like a hoarder who had spotted their most prized possession, their golden treasure.

"There're many secrets I need to share with you tonight, my daughter," and he took her hand. "Are you ready to step into the inferno?"


	11. The Academy Exam

Before October

Hi everyone! Happy Easter weekend to you all. Spring has come around already...(just realized this fact).

Thank you to my fabulous beta Ace724 for her work on maintaining order upon this confusing bundle of words ;)

I'll be adding some context to the start of chapter one soon - just to give a head's up of what type of story line Before October is following.

For now though, I hope you enjoy and see you with the next update!

* * *

Chapter 11: The Academy Exam

Roy heard the innate pounding of his heart, and almost imagined the courses of adrenaline thrumming through his veins. He swallowed his trepidation, although he had learnt to disguise his emotions as a child behind an indifferent expression. He stared at the floor, imagining that the dark ground below was waiting to swallow him up whole. He and Maes had just entered the back entrance to the military campus and as a result, the doors were being closed soundlessly behind them. The watery spring sunlight was drooping away like a wilting flower, leaving the recruits encompassed in an eternal darkness. This was supposed to be the one of the most prestigious military academies in the world and they couldn't afford lighting.

The young alchemist took the opportunity to hold his breath and reassure himself that everything was going to be alright.

But his life depended on this. One mistake, one fatal error-

Nassor would have to resort to removing him from the training schedule-

And what if his father discovered-

Flash.

Lights flickered on temperamentally and Roy had to squint, his line of vision a misty fog with blurred outlines of people and walls. The air was warm around him and as he shifted on his feet, he bumped into another recruit on his left who was not Maes. Roy blinked furiously again like he would do when he was struggling to stay awake when caffeine had failed him late at night. And like the miraculous ideas that could spring to his caffeine-deprived brain, his foggy vision started to clear. He inspected his surroundings with a quick swivel of his head, messy black hair spilling across his face, and saw boxes upon boxes upon boxes. They were in a cramped and claustrophobic place, likely littered with spiders.

Someone sneezed, confirming Roy's suspicions – there was dust sprinkled everywhere like powder. He could acutely hear each drawing breath, each anxious exhale from the people penned up around him.

But why in the damn Hell had the soldier brought the newest recruits for the Amestrian military service into a storage room? It was like the storage cupboard under the stairs back in East City.

"How do you feel about all of this?" Maes whispered by his side. Roy nearly yelped in shock; it was as if Maes had become silent and melted into shadow; he had nearly forgotten about the man's presence.

"What do you think you fool?" Roy hissed back to which Maes responded with a snort of laughter. Roy, perplexed, turned to look at the green-eyed man, who was toying with his watch gently.

"It's just that you appear to look so…smug," Maes chortled and wiped his face, his glasses falling past the crook of his nose, "When in fact you're terrified. You can hide your face behind a reflection."

Roy's eyes widened in surprise – he expected everyone around him knew that he was terrified. But did he actually look…smug? He smiled genuinely, and the waves of fear seemed to subside into a calm blankness. Maes chuckled lightly by his side again before a door slamming shut brought Roy back to his senses.

There was another door several feet – and about fifty people – in front of him, opposite from the one that they had entered by. The military recruits all shuffled and turned about nervously, as if tension was being stirred in the room by a massive spoon. The soldier who had directed them to the storage room had left and had been replaced by an officer. A very familiar looking officer.

She had hooded eyes like a vulture, dark and peel-like as if insects were squirming inside of their depths. Her hair was a single shade of auburn red that was cut jaggedly across her back, tied in a firm braid. She was taller than most of the military recruits, and at least four inches taller than Roy. Her stature was pure muscle – Roy could almost see her tendons flex beneath her marine blue uniform. Insignia blazed on her shoulder despite the flickering bulb light. People shirked away from her like mice running from a fox.

Like a vixen.

And that was her name. Colonel Vixen. Her red hair flashed – if her family could possess a Sigel, it would be a fox with lashing fangs leaping from a ring of fire. This woman was fire and destruction.

Roy's mind flashed. He was younger and smaller. His father's outline was blurred and so were the officers that were standing next to him and around him, like metal drawn to a magnet. Nassor's outline was no longer blurred and now Vixen's was not either. Gradually, the haunting members of his childhood were returning to the forefront of his memory.

But Roy would not be terrified. He was a Mustang but he wasn't their Mustang; he wasn't going to be ridden over like dirt. He was a recruit looking to enter the services of the Amestrian military. This was his new start. Although…could one truly ever escape from their past forever? Couldn't it become visible behind every corner that is turned?

The past was cropping up before him like a whirlwind, and faster than Roy could tell.

He dared not make a sound. Nobody dared breathe in front of the Colonel. While Nassor was hypnotic and allured the recruits into a dreamy state, everyone was fully aware of the Colonel's presence like prey cowering before a mighty beast. Make one false move, and the death blow would rattle before one's eyes.

"There are too many of you," Vixen spoke. Her eyes narrowed, gliding effortlessly across the box-like room, as if she could wheedle out the weakness from her victims. She ruled this campus as if it was her territory.

Nobody reacted. It was as if the Colonel had turned her victims to stone like the myth about the woman with serpents for hair. Roy could picture the volume the story was in but he couldn't remember her name. The Colonel could be one of her descendants nevertheless.

"This process is to ensure only the truest of recruits join our ranks," she stamped her boot to the floor, and everyone's heads snapped up to attention, "Lineup in alphabetical order. Silence is required from here on out."

Confusion fluttered like a flock of birds around the room. However, Roy and Maes simply shrugged their shoulders and moved towards the centre of the crowd – Hughes and Mustang should be close together in the order – because they knew what was going to happen. They were going to have their entrance exam right this moment. They wouldn't be allowed to explore the rest of the campus until this test had been completed, and the aim was to send most of the recruits back the way they had come.

The entrance exam would decide literally if they entered the military academy's site or not.

At the moment they were disposable – like the boxes that surrounded them. Amid the chaos of moving bodies, Roy had to swallow his pride. He was going to pass through this selection process – and due to Nassor's influence, he should make it through on a scholarship programme. However, he wanted to complete his process with his own strength. He didn't say anything to alert the Colonel. But mostly he remained silent as did everyone else because he was terrified of Vixen's fearsome power.

But as he milled beside Maes, something hit him. How did they know what alphabetical order they were supposed to be in if they weren't speaking? He shot Maes a questioning look, and he seemed to nod in mutual understanding. However, to Roy's surprise, Maes cleared his throat and turned to speak to the Colonel.

"Sir, where is the list to tick our names off for this examination?" Maes spoke fluidly and without a trace of fear in his voice; he sounded like he was politely ordering coffee in a café.

Vixen, who had positioned herself on top of a box, glared down at the miscreant who had dared speak to a superior officer. However, she leapt off the box and prowled up to stand in front of Maes, Roy by his side. Seconds passed and Roy could hear his breath catch in his throat. Next to him, a battle of the wills seemed to be continuing; Maes was staring up at the red-haired woman and Vixen returned his glare. Each second that passed became more unbearable; Roy could feel the scrutiny of the other recruits staring at him.

And suddenly, the Colonel started to laugh. She closed her eyes and laughed for a minute. Nobody dared to interrupt her, and all thoughts on ordering themselves into a line faded into cluelessness. Vixen reached into her chest pocket and brought out a military-sealed scroll. She flicked it open with a wave of her wrist and what unfolded before Roy was a list of names in alphabetical order.

Maes did not flinch, but he pulled out a pen from his pocket and reached forward to tick his name off the list.

"One of your number possesses common sense. This is the capability your military expects of you," Vixen's pleasure was short-lived, and she let the piece of paper fly free from her hands. Roy reached up to snatch it to tick his own name off next. And then the scurrying of figures pressing around him made his body pinch tightly – everyone was trying to sign their names off the list.

Even if there were around sixty recruits squeezed into this tiny compartment, this cohort was not as large as Roy had been expecting. Roy was surprised – Amestris was a large nation that needed warriors on each four of its borders but he assumed it was because it was more strategic to have fewer but dependent soldiers in their ranks rather than soldiers who were, simply put, useless.

"For those of you haven't obtained the guise about what is happening you will be sitting your entrance exam now in the Balcony. The exam will include a multiple-choice section, an essay and an in-depth scenario analysis and from commencing, it shall take two hours to complete. Each year the exam varies dramatically. There is no preparation one can complete for this," Vixen clapped her hands and the door was peeled open from behind her. It led down a corridor in which partitioned into two branches: one turning left and the other turning right.

Roy knew what this meant, but this time he would be the one to say it. "One of the exam rooms is for the State Certified Alchemy Programme application."

"Well noticed," Vixen commented flatly without bothering to make eye contact with Roy. "I assume you are one of the candidates…and this year, you are the only alchemist among our ranks."

Suddenly, the thought of being alone in an examination room without Maes was a daunting prospect. Even back in East City through Master Hawkeye's rigorous tutelage, he had had Riza to watch his back. When he was with her, he possessed an unspoken confidence that gave him the strength to be able to conquer the world and become victorious. And even though Maes Hughes was someone new in his life, Roy believed that they had forged a friendship, a bond that ran deeper than blood ties (Roy didn't want to think about his fractured relationship with his blood relatives). He had an unspoken strength granted to him. And the prospect of being alone confronting his future was incredibly jarring.

The black-haired man was pushed out of the uneven line; he made up his own line beside the jostling military candidates. However, the box room was tiny; the line had to curl around like a snake in order to accommodate the sixty recruits. Maes was among them. Roy felt partitioned, and a hole in his heart was cracking, like a rift separating his life from the rest of the recruits. Their life was training to become officers and working their way up the ranks, and while this was true for Roy's career path for the most part, his ultimate goal was becoming a State Alchemist. But first, he had to pass the S.C.A.P. exam. He had to realize that a consequence for this path he was taking was that he was the only one who could tread it.

Roy instantly thought about the intellectual conversation he had had with Master Hawkeye before he had informed his master that he was joining the military.

"If an alchemist reaches quintessence, Roy, they know the truth to form the correct decisions."

"Could I ever reach this perfect state in the world that we live in?"

Roy's mind whirled and he thought, Master, will I ever be able to reach this state of perfection?

He wasn't even a Private yet; there was a long way to go until he obtained "perfection." Roy wouldn't have believed the concept existed, but he knew that his master was coming close to completing his secret research which even his apprentice was not aware of its workings. If Berthold Hawkeye would be able to attain "perfection" after arduous years of research, the same would be able to apply to his apprentice. A lot of hard work.

That was a shame; Roy was a notorious slacker. If slacking could have been a profession, he would have become a millionaire by his mid-teens. But for now, he would have to try his best.

The clicking of shoes against the wooden floor caused Roy to lift his head and return to reality from his reverie. The line to his left was moving, and as he marched in line with Maes, who was avoiding contact with him, the recruits were finally able to leave that claustrophobic storage room behind them.

From the atrocious lighting that they had left behind, Roy was surprised to feel the tingle of sunlight against his back as he entered the corridor. As he looked up, he saw that above his head, there was an entire network of glass and runes spindling across the ceiling. Sunlight was pouring through its transparent state. The recruits had even started a nervous chatter among themselves, and Vixen did not turn around to snap at their heels like they were insubordinate dogs. Roy inhaled and almost imagined breathing in the spring air in the garden at the Hawkeye Estate while he tried to ignore the repugnant aroma of horse manure littered in Dapple's stable.

He managed a smile.

Roy wanted to whisper something to Maes, or say anything that may have been utterly irrelevant; that was what one discussed before an exam. Maes Hughes exuded an air of relaxation and patience, his glasses staring at the left junction as he moved in line with the recruits, keeping at an exact distance apart from the candidates in front and behind him. He kept his head lowered.

"Hey, Hughes!" Roy said across the void. Even if he was separated from the other recruits didn't mean that he could not call out to them.

"I'm sorry if it seems that I'm avoiding you Roy, but when I turn to face you-" and for a second Maes turned to look at Roy, and the splintering light from the Sun bounced from Maes' glasses and fired its rays into Roy's eyes. He looked away and started blinking to stop the stream tears from falling. "But alas, my glasses are an inconvenience."

"You need to write that on your office wall and say to your colleagues: 'do not fear about your worries, for mine are far greater; my glasses are an inconvenience.'" Roy could imagine that, and it made him laugh happily.

"Asshole," Maes muttered and he lowered his head even more.

"I'll see you on the other side," Roy responded – they had reached the junction, and on the right hand side, he could see the closed door waiting with his exam inside.

This was it.

"I definitely will. I have far more assorted items I need an alchemist to fix," Maes saluted in Roy's direction before the two men parted ways, one turning left and turning right. Roy didn't ruminate; his pace quickened and he moved with a determination he had not felt since leaving his beloved home behind.

Wait for me.

* * *

Smoke. Layer upon layer of smoke…made it hard to breathe…made it hard to think…she felt so giddy…

Riza Hawkeye choked on the mass of smoke swirling around her like a miniature bonfire. The basement was dark and covered with a dense fog-like smoke that seemed to want to suffocate her. Chemicals were bubbling in beakers – flames were burning weakly around the room like a magic circle. Riza had to remember to breathe. The pores on her skin had opened a long time ago and moisture was being sapped out of her body like blood to leeches. She was sweating, uncomfortable, and afraid.

Her short hair was plastered across her face, her eyes were droopy with fatigue and the only reason she was still conscious was because of her father.

Berthold Hawkeye had lost all sense of reasoning. Even in his spurts of madness, there seemed to be a coolly calculated logic behind his expression; however that frigid exterior had chipped, leaving blazing fire. Fire and fire and smoke. Her father had succumbed to the feverish excitement of his research, and when Riza tried to call out to him, she was brusquely ignored, as if she was speaking a foreign language.

But she had no energy left to speak. Her energy was being expended on remaining conscious and breathing in and out.

In and out.

She was panting faintly through the gap between her lips.

In and out and in and out.

If she focused her attention on her breathing alone, then it would be over before she knew it.

However, she knew that she had barely stepped into the inferno when her father entered her peripheral vision once again.

He was clutching his research notes like they were his children and sprawled them across the table. Riza could hardly concentrate, but she recognised the scrawling of her father's handwriting – indecipherable runes dotted the page – alchemic mysteries her brain would never be able to understand. But if through her clouded state of mind she knew one fact, it was that runes etched in blood never led to a positive outcome.

Her father was holding one sheet of paper left. It was musty and tearing at the corners and it was dripping with blood. Berthold, so detached and seemingly emotionless, was smiling serenely at the sheet of paper. His lip was bleeding, and the ends of his ratty hair had been coated a shade of crimson. Riza would have rushed to her father's side and tried to help him. She worried about his waning health, about his lack of grief for her mother, about his vain research attempts-

Except now, she didn't approach him. She was immobilised and paralyzed; fear was a powerful incentive. Her father was no longer her father…he was a feral beast and could do anything. His grey eyes were sunken husks, tired and lacking any form of reason. He started to approach her…tired? No he was fatigued.

He was fatigued of searching for an endless answer and now that he had found it-

What if he had been waiting on purpose for Roy to leave until he revealed his discovery? What if he had been waiting for Riza to be alone without her mother-

She longed for Roy's reassuring presence or for the gentle touch of Dapple's fur.

She was breathing heavily, heavier than she had been breathing before. He was coming, and the piece of paper in his hand was burning – the alchemic runes from the paper were writhing and contorting off the page. They blazed a golden orange and wandered off the page, shimmering in front of Riza's eyes like a nightmare become perpetual.

The runes spoke of power and destruction, like a heavenly power which should not have been accessible by mortals. They spoke of chaos and if they could have possessed an emotion, it would have been seething fury.

"Turn around my daughter…" Berthold whispered, his voice barely audible through the streams of smoke gliding through the air, surrounding her, suffocating her-

But Riza didn't turn around. She wouldn't turn around and surrender as easily as that. Instead she stared up at her father, trying to make eye contact with him, passively persuading him that this isn't what he wanted to do. She was his child and parents were supposed to take care of their children, even if Riza was the main carer. Her father was aloof and proud, but she loved him for his sharp tongue and wit and his dedication to the work that had been dragging him down his whole life.

However, Riza knew if Hawkeye had to make a choice between his daughter and his alchemy, he would choose-

"Now Riza – the circle's almost ready!" he spat, trails of saliva splattering on the ground. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turned away in a flurry of motion. One moment he was by the bubbling flasks, cooling them down; the next he was glancing over research notes; and the next he was standing seemingly oblivious to the world, but Riza could hear him muttering under his breath.

Any hopes that Riza had of her father still having reason slipped away like sand through her fingers.

She was tied by her foot with loose hempen rope that connected to a chain in the wall. Riza held her breath and then tugged as hard as she could against the rope, feeling her skin contort and blood vessels constrict as the bite of rope dug deeper into her leg. She needed to escape as fast as she could – she needed to run to a neighbour or tell the MPs. Her father was poorly, her father was poorly-

The bottom half of her leg had already become a sickly purple colour. She could feel pins and needles dancing in the soles of her feet as she starved the cells of their blood supply. She placed her hands against the wall behind her, biting her lip, and pushed herself against the wall. And suddenly, her leg fell limp as if it had fallen unconscious, and Riza realized she must have cut off the majority of the blood supply to her leg.

She had to move faster!

Her hands were slick with sweat - and so she grabbed for a chunk in her top and ripped it off, using it as a cloth for her hands. If she would have looked in the mirror, she would have been the image of a hermit; her clothes ratty and torn – her complexion was sunken and exhausted – but that didn't mean she would ever stop fighting.

With a last tug, the chain was dragged out of the wall. Riza scanned the room deliriously, but couldn't see her father. She rummaged around the smoky darkness until she grabbed a piece of glass apparatus and used its jagged edge to free her leg from the rope. Her leg sagged uselessly to the ground, and Riza took a second of rubbing it up and down to revive the incapacitated limb.

The glass however must have snagged across her skin, because there was a delicate stream of blood flowing out of the room. Riza couldn't stay here for another moment – she turned around and-

There. In front of her. Her father. He had a piece of chalk in his hand, and his blazing alchemic runes that were dancing in the air twirled towards the ground. They flowed like a river into their correct positions, forming circles and triangles and overlapping, intertwining complex shapes. The chalk that her father had drawn on the ground acted as a map for the blazing flame-like runes.

A transmutation circle had formed below her. She tried to move but she couldn't – she was transfixed, paralyzed, as if her feet were glued to the ground. She couldn't move her torso, her arms, her neck.

She tried to find her voice, which was filled with pleading and worry, with a sternness and reluctance, with hope, "Father, you don't want to do this."

"The alchemist has no choice but to follow the Laws, Riza," Berthold spoke her name in the first time that felt like a century. He lifted his hands towards the circle, hands which were dripping in blood, and had transmutation circles etched into their surfaces, "But I must follow it. For this…is quintessence!"

Riza's world became the sickly colour of crimson-

Pain-

And darkness-

Insurmountable pain lanced across her back as if she was being branded-

It hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt to think.

…

Fire.

She remembered glowing reams of fire and beyond the inferno wall that blazed around her; she saw her father's eerily smile and possessed eyes glistening with madness.

* * *

Roy stretched. Two hours of he-didn't-know-what. He had expected the exam to be rigorous and challenging instead of just damn weird.

The invigilator had stepped up to him and Roy lazily waved his exam paper in the air for the man to take away.

Roy leaned back in his chair. One down, two to go.

The exam he had just completed was the same exam Maes and the other candidates had completed. They were finished; all they had to worry about now were their results. But as an alchemist entering the academy for the S.C.A.P. he had his alchemy theory and practical exam still to come.

Why didn't he just wait for a year to become a State Alchemist?

Roy had thought about it, but never really considered it. The invigilator was sorting out papers at the front of the exam room, and Roy wondered if he could sneak off to use the toilet. He glanced at the cloak and sighed. There would be another hour of exams for him until he could do that. But until the invigilator had sorted out his exams, he would have the time to think.

He wanted to be a member of the military, and not just as a State Alchemist. He didn't want to sit an exam and be awarded the role of Major with no prior experience to leadership. But by coming to the academy, he could learn the rules of proper commandment and service, although most importantly, he could find allies that would help him to protect his country.

That was what he wanted to do.

He sighed lightly, and his thoughts turned to the scenario-based exam he had completed.

One question lingered in his mind, the one he had the most difficulty answering:

You are fighting against an enemy force. They outnumber you 4:1. The terrain is grassy, boggy and flat. You suspect 80% of your forces have fallen to death or injury. An officer you are close to has fallen beside you, and the enemy is advancing on horseback with long and short-range weaponry aimed at you; at this moment they are 200 metres away from you. What do you do?

Roy should have moved his forces into a defensive position and launched a last minute offensive. However, he couldn't forget about that dying comrade and thought he was living in a terrible nightmare; he was having the sensation of déjà vu.

He shook his head and waited as the next exam was placed on his desk. The invigilator turned, bored, at the clock and incited:

"You have one hour. You may begin."


	12. First October

Before October

Chapter 12 is here! And to think that several of my stories are now over a year old o.O that is a strange thought.

Thank you Ace724 for your amazing Beta work and help herding those plot bunnies!

We have a lot planned for chapter 13 :) but for now, readers, here is some much needed fluff. Until next time, please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 12: First October

The autumn leaves were spilling across the garden like a mirage of fire. A year ago Edward would not have known where to look; there were so many colours in this world that he could see all at one time. And beyond that innocent wonder lurked a thirst for understanding the cycles of this world - the birth of flowers in the spring and the falling of leaves in October. For it was those cycles which dictated the fundamentals of alchemy.

His breath collected like ghosts on the glass window in front of him. He was staring out of the window without seeing anything; the world was lost in a numbness he couldn't explain, as if his body couldn't muster up the strength to smile anymore. It had been a long winter, and an even longer summer. His mother had progressively become sicker over the course of the year, and helpless with only mundane alchemy at his disposal, Edward was helpless. Al felt the same way that he did, and Ed could hear his little brother cry himself to sleep most nights. But Edward had only become numb. As he stared out of that bedroom window, an observer might have noted how sad he had become, as if he was watching and waiting for the falling of the leaves, much like the deterioration of his mother.

But within, a fire burnt. Behind that glassy reflection, a determined flame flickered and simmered with life. That was what it was - the longing and resilience to spit at Mother Nature. He wouldn't allow his brother to cry; he wouldn't allow his mother to suffer in pain throughout the night. His father was useless and never around, but that didn't mean that his family were losing out.

His father's absence was actually a source of Edward's strength; without his father around, responsibility to take care of his small family rested upon the older Elric brother's shoulders now. He loved them both so much, and he would do everything in his power to take care of them. But he would never say it. Instead he would let his actions govern the thoughts and feelings in his head. Sometimes though, even he had to reflect on what was happening. He would do this by working through his father's research notes, or taking out Den for a walk. Watching the autumn leaves as he was doing helped to soothe his troubled mind too.

 _There isn't enough time!_ A voice screamed in his head, and Ed physically shook his head attempting to quash the thoughts fleeting into his mind. They never seemed to stop. He stretched his aching muscles and sat up from where he had been lying on the windowsill, gazing out of the window. There was too much to do.

He climbed down the stairs two a time to see if they had had any letters through the post. He had sent letters to all of the contacts that their father had known, and begrudgingly their father himself, because as much as he hated to admit it, Trisha needed him here. She would see their family together and that would encourage her body to recover. He had read about it in a psychology book. His father was pathetic: leaving Trisha on her own with two young children and never being around as a father to his sons. Edward had taken role as the head of the household. With his mother sick and Al too young, it had been left to him.

There were no letters waiting for him. Ed lifted the dusty mat and sighed when he saw no letters wedged beneath it. They had sent all of the letters out over two months ago, and still there had been no reply from the dozens of pleas he had sent out. Someone out in Amestris had to know where his lousy father was! Unless he had left Amestris altogether. Ed snorted - that was the most likely option to consider. He didn't care about any of them. After all, if he had cared, he wouldn't have left in the first place.

Ed's fists were shaking. He growled softly and dug his fingernails into his palm. Luckily he had been biting his nails and all that was left were stubs, otherwise he would have drawn blood. And then suddenly, he heard the sound of his nightmares, the thought that always lingered in the back of his mind:

 _There isn't enough time._

He could hear his weak mother coughing again. All day, all year, she had been coughing without stopping. Even on the days during the summer, when the heat cleared some of the infection from her lungs, she would still be coughing weakly, and when it became colder she would begin to cough louder and harsher. Her boy was becoming more frail too; she couldn't grow her fruit or vegetables because she barely had the strength to leave the bed these days. Edward had tried to take care of the vegetable patch around the side of the house, as he could guarantee that homegrown food was organic. That was the best produce that Trisha could eat to aid in her recovery; Ed had read that in a book too.

Edward was useless at housework; he ended up breaking more objects rather than cleaning them. His skills in alchemy were only rudimentary, so when he used alchemy to fix the damaged objects, there were transmutation marks across them. All he could do was try, but trying was never enough. Granny and Winry would come over more often than not to help the Elric brothers with the chores and cook some of the meals. However, he hated to depend on others and lean on anyone. He had to learn to be an adult and take care of himself so he could therefore take care of his family. He didn't want to lean on anyone.

Quickly retreating to the kitchen, Edward let the kettle boil and placed some honey and lemon into two cups, pouring them into the scalding water before resting them on a tray. With deft movements (from plenty of practice), Ed hoisted the tray to rest on his arms as he climbed the stairs. The hallway was silent and dark - the curtains were closed. All of the doors were also closed, so the blond slowed his pace, tiptoeing across the landing. He reached the door on his left first, knocked lightly, and entered when he heard a croak in reply. Breathing in the bitter aroma of the honey and lemon drink, Edward tried to dispel the scent of sickness that wafted from the bedroom as he entered to visit his mother's bedroom.

Trisha Elric was coughing. It shouldn't have been a surprise to him, but every time he saw his mother, his gentle and vibrant mother, crippled with an illness, made his young heart break. He felt guilty for flinching when she spluttered, but he was afraid. Never would he say it out aloud, but his whole heart and soul was afraid. He was afraid of the unknown, the future and whether he will ever find peace amid the turmoil his life had been thrown into.

She looked at him affectionately with her grey eyes, patting for him to come and sit next to her on the bed. Her curtains were open. Edward rested the tray on the bedside table and awkwardly perched at the end of her bed. He stared out of the window, letting the space between them turn into an extended silence. His mother would not lift her gaze from him.

"I never see you play in the leaves anymore, Ed," Trisha said sadly, her head turning to watch the ember-coloured leaves break away from the branches of the tree and drift to the floor. One of the branches of the tree had a swing attached on it, but it was rarely ever used. Aside from going into the garden to collect laundry or watch over the vegetable patch, or leaving the house to head to Granny's and the village, he wouldn't be outside. Sometimes he watched the other children from Resembool excitedly trek into the forest or mountains to go on an expedition, but Ed had no intentions of joining them; he wasn't a child anymore, no matter what anyone else may have said.

"I don't need to be treated like a child, Mum," Ed refused to make eye contact with his mother. He watched and waited for the leaves to detach from the tree. Why was he here? His mother needed to rest and didn't deserve to be pestered by him-

"My little man, you'll always be my son," Trisha reached her arms out, and reluctantly, Edward dragged his body closer to hers, until he could scent her lavender and honeysuckle smell, the scent of summer from the years when his greatest worry had been getting stung by a bee or tripping over nettles. He had been a child then. But not now. This year had changed him, and he was determined that this change was for the better, even though he had become far more withdrawn, taciturn and spent longer brooding in the solitude of his mind.

"You need to drink this," Ed avoided the subject, handing Trisha the broth he had made for her. She sipped at it lightly, and started laughing.

"What did I tell you and Alphonse was the best cure for tickling coughs?" she asked, amusement ringing in her voice. This surprised Edward, as he had not heard such a pleasant sound in a very long time.

"What I made for you," Ed answered, and then he elaborated, "honey, lemon juice and hot water."

"What else?" she insisted gently.

"Was there something else?" Edward asked, panicking and confused. There was so much he needed to remember these days. He could easily recite the fundamental laws of organic chemistry applied to alchemy, but remembering a recipe was impossible. His mind was not hardwired for practical memory...

"Yes," his mother said.

And then, he wasn't in the bedroom.

 _His vision swam and settled. He was in a bright room, the kitchen. Scents of cooking drifted through the open windows. Alphonse was only a baby, and sitting patiently in a highchair waiting for his dinner. Edward, after being good all day, had been allowed to sit on the kitchen counter and observe his mother through her cooking routine. He loved watching her create such delicious meals. He knew that he liked to create too. Ed understood how building blocks of things added together, like a jigsaw puzzle, and what could break these apart. His father was an alchemist. Mama said he was an amazing man and Ed was her amazing little man and so Ed wanted to become an alchemist to make her proud._

 _Except he couldn't at the moment. His nose was blocked up and his throat was dry. It was a strange sensation and he didn't like it. He felt all blocked up._

 _"Listen carefully, Ed!" his mother took the boiling water off from the stove. She took three ingredients into her hands. There was the bright yellow lemon, which tasted strange and made his face squirm up. There was also honey, the golden stuff that bees made. That was yummy._

 _And the last item was brown. It didn't look very nice to eat. When he smelt it, it was strong and made his eyes water._

 _"Ew, Mum, that's not good," he protested._

 _"It's spicy, Ed. And it's called ginger. Remember when you have a bad cold, mix honey, lemon and boiling water together. But don't forget to add the ginger."_

 _He swallowed the strange concoction, and gagged at its taste. Mama said it would take a little while until he felt better. He didn't believe her, and sniffled on his own. Alphonse was clapping his hands. Everyone else was happy, but he didn't feel well so he was grumpy._

 _He sat on the kitchen counter with his arms folded crossly until the cooking was finished._

 _"How do you feel, Ed?" she asked him._

 _"Same. Bad," he sulked, but he realized his throat wasn't sore anymore. And he wasn't coughing!_

 _"Do you really feel bad?" she asked him again. He shook his head, his face flushing red, and she scooped him up and whirled him around in the air. He watched her brown hair twirl with her lilac dress, "I told you, my little man."_

Edward blinked, and he was back in the bedroom again. He realized his vision was blurry, and he quickly wiped at his sleeve.

"It's ginger," he said with such certainty he had not felt in a long time, "the missing ingredient is ginger."

"Of course, you're right," Trisha leaned closer and her voice lowered to a whisper, "you're going to do incredible things one day."

"I will?" Edward was shocked to hear those words from his mother. This moment was meant to be about her and not about him. He raised his concerns, but Trisha shook her head and pulled her son into a warm embrace. Ed resisted, but then quickly stopped his struggling. His mother's touch was warm.

He knew he had been isolating himself from her. And it was not just Trisha he had been withdrawing contact from, but Al too. Alphonse had been bedridden with the flu for the best week. When the doctor had come to perform a health examination on Trisha, Edward had silently shoved him a few more coins to check on Alphonse. A part of him dreaded the fact that his younger brother could have contracted the same illness that was making his mother's health deteriorate so rapidly. He was resting in bed, and the second drink Ed had made was for his little brother.

Ed had to take care of them both, but for these precious minutes, could he be a child again? He was being selfish for being mollycoddled by his mother, but he needed her assurance. He wanted to believe that everything was alright, and that this illness was just a bad dream that would go away...

"You will travel the world, and help people. You have the mind of a scholar, and a heart of gold. Don't lose either of them," Trisha said sternly, her grip tightening from where she held his shoulders, her thin hands digging into his shoulders.

"I won't," Ed promised.

"You make me so proud, Ed," she told him, holding him in that warm embrace before Edward ended the contact, pushing her away. Her chest was heaving, and correct to Ed's assumptions, she had started coughing again.

"I'll bring you something later, Mum," Edward hurried to lift up the tray, but Trisha clasped at her son's hand.

"Go outside into the leaves. For me," she requested. Edward merely nodded, not knowing what words that needed to be said, and quickly left the room, closing the door behind him. He had to get this drink to Al before it became too cold. He lowered his head, a beaming smile spreading wide across his face.

He would do whatever he could to make his mother proud. And he knew that when he went outside, his mother would be watching him from her bedroom and she wouldn't look away.

However, he wouldn't go outside alone. He waited outside his little brother's bedroom door. As soon as Alphonse was better, Edward would take his younger brother's hand and they would watch the October leaves unfurl like crimson fire together.

* * *

Roy swore under his breath. He stuffed the letter into his pocket and reached forward into his drawer, throwing in its entire contents, only wishing he could speed up.

Ever since he had been accepted to train as a State Alchemist earlier that year, he had been preoccupied.

Very preoccupied.

He had immersed himself into life at the academy and as a result, the outside world had become but forgotten to him. His thoughts of home became less and less, not because he didn't care...but because he was so damn preoccupied.

He had received the letter that morning. The original address had been to Berthold Hawkeye, but the message had clearly been forwarded onto Roy. And knowing his Master, he never made mistakes and whatever he decided to do was not by coincidence. At the bottom of the envelope read the alchemist's motto, in Hawkeye's scrawl: Be Thou for the People.

Inside was a sheet of paper. The penmanship was neat and delicate, which did not reflect its contents. What the letter contained was the cries of two young boys from Resembool, Hohenheim's sons, seeking help on the whereabouts of Hohenheim.

Nobody had seen nor heard of the rogue alchemist in years, and as a result, the boys pleas would likely to unanswered. But Roy was furious with himself for becoming so complacent; he had grown lazily expecting that the only important matters in his life rested in the academy. He rarely left the place, despite his frequent promises to return home. Out of his time so far, he had only returned to East City for one weekend. And during that time, Riza had been ill and unable to see him. She wrote him letters weekly though, and as a result, Roy had not seen cause to worry; she was never the most extroverted individual that he knew.

The work demanded by a State Alchemist was gruelling. They not only required exemplary alchemic skill, but when they had completed their training, they would be thrown into the chaos of the military as Majors, highly-ranking officers. Every State Alchemist therefore needed leadership qualities, a sharp wit and adaptable mindset as the bare minimum to succeed in the first week after qualifying. His life had become that for the military the day he had decided to walk this path.

He shook his head. He had become a mindless Dog of the Military, just as Nassor had promised.

Thinking of the Major General, Roy twisted his wrist to catch a glimpse of the time; he was due to have a practical session with his tutor that morning. But he had exactly three minutes to reach the other side of the building if he wanted to arrive on time. Even if he sprinted, the journey still would have lapsed ten minutes.

He didn't want to attend.

He was leaving for East City that instant.

While he had been attending lectures, those boys were having to take care of a sick mother. And what of Riza? What of Master? Roy was even concerned about that equine menace back at home too...

Roy cursed again - he had stubbed his toe dropping his suitcase to the floor. He was rushing and not thinking anything through. How could he attempt to compose his mind?

 _Quintessence. And you know it._

Hawkeye was disturbing his thoughts now.

He had forgotten about the promises he had made to the people outside of the academy, and this was the time to reassess his priorities.

He would travel to Resembool.


	13. Montage of Memory

Before October

Chapter 13 is finally here! Cute Roy and little Ed interactions are the sweetest thing, I swear.

Thank you so much Ace for your beta work on this chapter as usual ;)

* * *

Montage of Memory

The man trudged up the hill – his academy uniform covered with the mud that sloshed against his boots and made the country path he was currently traipsing more like a river. Roy lowered his head, following the vague directions he had been given by the station master. Ed had given him directions to his house the time that they had met over winter (had it been that long ago?) but the boy had been distinctly vague.

Roy didn't consider, "turn left at the first hill and keep going past the sheep!" to be clear instructions. He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

It was strange to think that he had been accepted onto the S.C.A.P. after receiving full marks on his written and practical assessment. When he had obtained the results, he had been in disbelief (he had even beaten the famed Basque Grand with his score) and that immediately threw him into the spotlight at the Academy. Master Hawkeye's rough tutelage had paid off. Equivalent Exchange, perhaps.

Riza was still at the forefront of his mind. When he had completed the first term at the academy, he decided to return to East City, but Riza had suddenly been called to the west of Amestris for a family gathering. Roy had grown accustomed to the spontaneity of the Hawkeye's travel arrangements (which were rare and far-between as it was). But something about this was…off. Riza had sent him a postcard informing him of how her trip was going, also noting that she hoped that Dapple was doing well.

However, even if Roy had his suspicions, he knew that his Master's daughter was able to take care of herself; he expected nothing less. He had to trust and believe in her. She would return to East City and he would see her again very soon.

And so Roy had come to Resembool.

He gazed tiredly out at the expansive horizon. The fields were endless, and for one who had grown up in the city, not seeing a building or hearing the drone of an engine was alarming. It was so quiet; he didn't know if he liked that yet or not. He would have to wait and see if he became accustomed to it. What had been minutes of walking had trudged into what he imagined to be hours. He squinted in the dimming light, and there, he spotted lights.

Civilisation! And coffee! His mind cried delightfully, but Roy quashed the outburst of positive thoughts flowing through his brain. His recalled the directions the station master had given him, and with an affirmative nod of his head, he continued along the path that would lead to the Elric household.

Moments later he arrived at the front door. There was one light on – the one that was in the bedroom towards the front of the house. That was odd. There should have been noise of some sort. The swing in the garden tied to an aging tree should have been occupied with playing children. To be honest, he felt that he was the doorstep of an elderly household and not one with two young boys that lived within. As he surveyed the garden, waiting to pluck up the courage to answer the door, he noticed several key things: the vegetable patch was withering as though it had not been maintained in a long time; there was dust collecting on the swing, an unused object hanging there limply, and leaves were scattered across the earth; nobody had thought to clear away the debris that had fluttered down from the tree.

The twisting in his gut intensified. It was the same feeling that had been occupying him since before he had entered the academy and met the elder Elric brother. He could only describe it as an intense urgency and pull, as though he was performing alchemy. But the fundamental truth behind that feeling was that he was running out of time.

He didn't understand.

He wanted to understand.

Should he knock on the door?

If he wanted to understand, he had to.

He breathed in deeply and went forward to knock on the door. Before he could move; however, the wooden door and its hinges squeaked, being forced open with a heavy tug. Roy didn't have a second to comprehend as a small body wrapped around his legs tightly, refusing to let go.

"I knew you would come. You wouldn't come before but now that Mum is sick-" Edward paused midsentence as he looked up at the man he had clearly mistaken for his father. The boy's eyes, once filled with desperation, turned into sorrow, before reverting back to a reluctant curiosity all in the space of a heartbeat. There were too many confused emotions etched on his face, emotions that adults still found hard to comprehend (Roy couldn't agree more with that).

Another boy came running out afterward and even though the boy was taller than his brother, the innocent expression on his face (in comparison to Ed's iron stare) told Roy that this was the younger Elric brother. Alphonse.

"I have your letter," Roy answered, and pulled out the thing from his coat pocket. Even though the paper was crumpled, Ed snatched the letter from his hand.

Roy had received another letter shortly after the original one addressed to Berthold Hawkeye. Except that the second one was addressed to Hohenheim and had the address for the Hawkeye's estate listed on the envelope.

"This has my handwriting on it, but it was addressed to Dad!" Edward cried, and he showed the note to Alphonse, whose shocked expression caused him to look up at Roy anxiously. Roy sighed – he was tired and grouchy: that did not make him scary.

"I'm not sure how I came to have this, but I returned home-" Roy started but he was interrupted by a loud Ed talking animatedly to Alphonse.

"I put the address clearly and the stamp at the top! This is the address the bastard left for Mum to contact in case of an emergency! The address isn't from his house. He lied to us, Al. He's such a bastard and I hate him," Edward's fists were clamped and sweat was beading down his forehead. The boy looked like he would break out into a fever at any instant. When the hope of innocence and dream of naivety blew up in front of a child's eyes, there would be repercussions.

Edward's was that he wouldn't let himself cry. He rubbed his eyes and wore the serious demeanour of an adult having to take care of his little family. The one time he had allowed himself a glimmer of hope that his father would return and resume his position as the head of family…that was a dream that was not meant to be according to fate…God…or whichever damn entity ruled this earthly realm.

Edward had to keep himself strong for Alphonse.

Like how Roy had had to keep himself strong for Harry-

It's not the time to think about that, Roy shook his head lightly, so lightly that the boys did not notice his movement. Roy remembered the night as clearly as if it was yesterday before he had retreated to the Hawkeye estate. Harry had been screaming…there had been so much fire and Roy had cried out in anguish as he watched the flames burn and his father, usually so composed and level-headed, shrieking in delight. It had been a night that he wouldn't forget. Why had it not rained damned earlier? The flames would have been destroyed and sent back to the Hell where they would have come from…

And he had run away from home. He had run from his Master. He had run away to Resembool… His life was one of running and mistakes…

"Hey, Roy?" a voice below snapped his mind away from the darkness and flames. Edward's liquid golden eyes were staring at him, and Al beside him was watching on confused.

"Hmm?" Roy relaxed his clenched jaw. It clenched again.

"Do you know where our father is?" Edward asked. It was the last string of hope that the boy had. If Roy didn't know where his father was, there was a list of contacts still to try, but the exact location of Hohenheim would be unknown. The man was a rogue – and why had he given the Hawkeye estate as his contact address to his wife and sons?

"Wait, is your mother here? Did you say she was sick?" Roy realized, and when Alphonse started crying, Edward trying to soothe him and the hallway lights turning on, Roy knew it was a sensitive area. His own mother had been weak from the moment that he had been born (which his father never let him forget) and so he understood a little of what the brothers were enduring.

At the top of the stairs, a silhouette appeared, casting a shadow down towards the front door. Feet began to patter downwards, and the shadows gradually parted to reveal the figure of the dressing gown-clad Elric siblings' mother, "honey, is that you?"

She was calling for her husband. The desperation in her tone rang like a bell throughout Roy's soul. The call was gentle and summoning as if Trisha Elric wanted nothing more than to take her children and husband into her arms and hold them tight until the morning light. Roy saw her clutching to the bannister, her arms a clammy white. Her legs were shaking like the branches of the leaves holding the delicate autumn leaves; no matter how hard they tried to hold onto their precious load, in the end, they had to let go. Winter always won.

"Mum, you need to go back to bed! You know what Granny and the doctors keep saying," Ed mumbled the last part after realizing that he had raised his voice at his mother. He shuffled on the balls of his feet and gave a quick glance at Roy before rushing after Alphonse to help his mother. She took another step down the stairs and she misjudged her footing and began to tumble forwards. Roy acted on instinct, and before she could fall, he managed to hold onto her arm.

"Oh, thank you," she muttered, and her fever-glazed eyes appeared to clear; clarity flooded into her grey eyes as they regained their sparkle. Roy knew without a doubt that she was a natural mother and that her sons loved her adoringly and unconditionally.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Mrs. Elric," Roy moved backward to give the woman her personal space. He had done exactly that: intruded into her home. He had followed the rough directions given to him the previous winter and a return address on a letter that was not meant to him.

The inkling in his gut had been so strong it had manifested into a pulling force that would not leave him alone if he had not journeyed to Resembool. It was something that was age-old as if it had seen too much…

"What brings you out to the countryside?" Trisha coughed, moving her hands to her lips to brush away the phlegm that had congealed. Roy saw red, but he pretended like he noticed nothing. Edward did the same. Trisha smiled, "would you like some tea?"

"Coffee would be wonderful if you have any," Roy commented as he entered the threshold of the house, leaving the bitter outside behind him. The door squeaked tightly.

The house itself was quaint (now he could see something). Portraits hung up of a young Hohenheim and Trisha. As he moved towards the kitchen, the pictures in the hallway gradually change: there was a swollen belly, a baby boy, and another swollen belly, and then two boys beaming at the camera. There was a short woman with glasses as well as a young blond couple with a little girl the same age as the Elric boys. Other people made one or two appearances in the photographs but not as often as the blond family and the Elrics themselves.

"This is the last of my husband's favourite brew, so I hope you enjoy," Trisha had turned the gas on and the kettle was beginning to boil happily on the stove. Roy gasped as he ducked to enter the kitchen – all around the room was alchemic sketches of complex arrays (not the rudimentary sketches he sometimes conjured even now). They were pinned to the cupboards, above the stove, on the door, the coat rack, except on the windows looking out across open country.

"Did Hohenheim design these?" Roy awed, feeling the inky touch of the paper as he brushed an array gently with his finger. The arrays were clearly invented; they would not be found in any textbook.

"These? Oh no, my husband kept his arrays in his journals in the study. My boys gave these to me as presents – after a while, I did not know what to do with them! I don't understand much of what they're about, but I know they're talented," Trisha blushed as she stared at the work of her sons and began to cough into her dressing gown sleeve. The coughing then intensified.

Out of nowhere, the Elric brothers stormed past Roy. Trisha was gripping violently to the back of a wooden chair. Ed had shoved the contents on the work surface of the kitchen and was struggling to reach for the top cupboard. The kettle whistled loudly as the water boiled.

Trisha fell to her knees, her face turned purple from coughing. Blood dripped onto the floor. Al was rubbing her back with strong strokes. Ed was still struggling to reach for the handle to open the cabinet. Roy hurried over and opened the cupboard only its contents to spill out across the floor. The glass case containing the all-important medicine smashed into a thousand pieces. Edward gasped, and dropped off the counter onto the kitchen floor straight into the glass strands-

Roy gathered the scant knowledge he possessed on geology and scrambled in his pockets for the chalk that he kept there out of habit (he would be ordered to draw a transmutation circle randomly by Nassor – it was a habit in preparation for war). His mind was roaring and his eyes squinted as he drew the line, letting the image of his transmutation burn in front of him. The chalk moved smoothly across the kitchen floor and without thinking, Roy slapped his palms to the ground and allowed the alchemy to fix the broken glass shards.

Edward's arms were scrambling wildly on the kitchen counter, and he grabbed a couple of pills. He handed them to his mother, but she nearly dropped them by coughing so much. Her grip on the back of the chair weakened and she collapsed on her hands and knees on the ground, her breaths coming short and sharp.

"Please, you've got to try and take your cough medicine, it'll make it all better," Edward murmured, almost self-assuring. Al was shaking and the fear that radiated from the Elric family was painful to witness. Roy went to pour a glass of water for Trisha, and she took it gratefully as the coughing fit subsided.

"Thank you," Trisha was able to splutter, and she swallowed the pills with a small sip of water (not enough fluid to make up for what she must be losing on a constant basis). The gratification was simple but heartfelt; the mother did not have the strength to utter another word. In union, Edward and Alphonse helped their mother to her feet and they shuffled into the living room, slowly and sluggishly, and Trisha fell onto the sofa, a blanket brushed over her sides, and the rise and fall of the blanket indicated to Roy that she had fallen asleep straight away.

"Sick" was perhaps the biggest understatement he had heard in his life. Roy watched the boys starting to clear up the now-useless medication from the floor, using a broom that was nearly twice Ed's height.

From their expressions, Roy knew intuitively that this incident had become routine. But where were the people in the photographs to help them? Where was Hohenheim?

Anger burnt through Roy's veins. What if he had not come?

The gut feeling wallowing inside of him like a pit intensified and he succumbed to a series of flashbacks:

Roy saw the world through another set of eyes. He saw the world's future.

He had to save the world before October.

He remembered chaos and havoc, flames spurting into the sky, of a world soaked with ruin. But like bombs scattering to their targets, he could not for the sake of him remember any other details as their traces shattered out of existence. He was watching some mysterious future prophesied by fortune.

Roy was older. Amestris had become an apocalypse. The Homunculi and Father had wrecked his home (and stolen so many lives).

He was Fuhrer. He was the one who had soaked the land with blood. Him. And he had promised he would save it! Everyone who was precious to him…he had lost through his bitterness and greed.

The Homunculi had twisted him and warped him.

…

He was at the Portal. He had seen the past and future of every timeline. His future was one of the worst. And Truth was giving him another chance to make things right.

He was given a chance to change the world's timeline. Roy would go back to the beginning – where this mess all started – on the 3rd October 1910. On that day, the Elric brothers had not performed the human transmutation.

That was where the timeline split.

And that was when everything had gone horribly wrong.

* * *

The memories faded as quickly as they returned. But what remained was the sense of urgency that had been increasing inside of him for the past few months.

However, instead of just the word "October" being etched in his mind, the whole date remained in his memory bank: 3rd October 1910.


End file.
